


Always Another Side to the Story

by InTheShadows



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arthur Pendragon Is King, BAMF Emrys, BAMF Merlin, Bandits & Outlaws, Court Sorcerer Merlin, Emrys As A Separate Person, Exasperated Emrys, Gen, Good Mordred, Haven't They Learned Yet?, Hurt Merlin, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Kidnapping, M/M, Magic Personified, Magic Revealed, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Arthur Pendragon, Protective Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Protective Emrys, Protective Knights (Merlin), Protective Mordred, Sass and Snark, Why Is It Always Bandits?, clumsy Merlin, gwaine is a good bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-11 15:48:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 26,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15318846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InTheShadows/pseuds/InTheShadows
Summary: For as long as Merlin can remember, there has been another voice in his head. Not that kind of voice that makes him crazy -he's not- but as if there is another person sharing his body. It might seems odd, but Merlin is use to it, so it's fine. He likes his voice anyways. After all, what kid wouldn't like having a best friend living in their head? It's only as time moves on that they learn that things aren't always as simple as they seem.[Or where in people know that Merlin's magic is different. But no one seems to know just how different. It tends to make things... interesting.]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I don't even know. I got this idea so long ago, I can't even tell you guys how I thought of it. It just is at this point. Because why not? Also, for anyone who doesn't know Ambrosius and Emrys are the same name, just in different languages.

There has been a voice in the back of Merlin's head as long as he could remember. Not a voice like Widow Hilda's down the lane. He's not crazy.  _ He's not _ . For one thing, his voice has always been there. It didn't develop because of old age or anything like that. Ever since Merlin could remember, there has been another voice inside his head, sharing it.

For another thing his voice has a personality. Opinions. Different tastes and thoughts on what is fun. Different thoughts in general. He knows the difference. Despite what the other children might say, he isn't stupid. And he – because it is obviously a male's voice – can do things.

Things like make plates levitate and berries grow on barren bushes. The first time Mum saw him do something, she got a terrible look in her eyes. Fear. She told him it was dangerous. That, if anyone saw him, the bad men would come and take him away. That he must not do anything – or hide it well when he told her he couldn't stop.

Because he couldn't. It made him feel complete. Whole. Powerful. Besides, it wasn't _him_ that was doing it. It was his voice. And his voice didn't want to stop – _couldn't stop_ –  because this power was the only thing he had. He had no body, no independence, nothing he didn't have to share with Merlin. Except this one thing. The power was completely his only.

Magic.

He had magic.

So even though magic put Merlin in danger, his voice continued to use it. Merlin didn't mind. He thought it was amazing. He didn't understand why it was bad or why people were afraid of it. His voice's magic was beautiful. It created life, it helped Mum and it played with Merlin. How could a thing like that be bad? Especially when his voice explained that it hurt when he _didn't_ use it. It would build and build inside like a blocked stream before exploding in a noticeable display.

Magic was something to be used. It couldn't be locked away or ignored. It was something wonderful. It was alive. No, not just alive. It was in everything – every plant, every river, every animal and every person. Magic is not a tool. Magic is life itself. And how can life be bad?

Merlin didn't understand when he was younger. Even as he grew and learned, he still didn't understand. Not really. He knew it was illegal and he could be killed for it. Or captured and forced to use it for other people. But he still didn't understand  _ why _ . Why was magic illegal. Why was it feared. How could people be so blind? Couldn't they sense the very ground they walked on, the air they breathed, was full of magic and life?

He did not understand. He doubted he ever would.

Merlin was always a loner, growing up. None of the other children in the village played with him or wanted to talk to him. Everyone knew he was a bastard. He didn't have a Da like all the other children, not ever. Some of the others had Da's that had died fighting or from disease, but that wasn't true for him. He just never existed.

Mum always said that his Da was a good man. That he had to leave, but that he didn't want to. That he would have loved Merlin had he ever been able to meet him. Who wouldn't love such a good boy? But she only told him these things when pressed. And only to Merlin himself. The rest of the time she was silent on the subject.

But no matter how good of a man his Da was suppose to have been, that didn't change the fact that he wasn't there. And because he wasn't there, no one wanted anything to do with him. The adults sneered and ordered him away. The children laughed and poked at him.

So his voice was the only friend he had. _He_ didn't call Merlin stupid or clumsy or unwanted. He said it was the opposite in fact. Merlin was smart. He could figure things out quickly, if only give the chance. He wasn't clumsy – or he was a little bit clumsy – but that was because he had so much more to focus on. The world was so much more alive to him. Sometimes he forgot to focus on his feet and not everything else around him. Merlin wasn't unwanted. His Mum wanted him. And his voice. His voice very much wanted him. And not just because they shared a body either.

“You need a name,” Merlin announces one day.

“ _ Getting tired of The Voice _ ?” he teases.

Merlin blushes. “Shut up,” he mutters, “You do. Everything has a name. Even Sally's new lamb has a name. So you need one.”

“ _ What do you think _ ?”

“Don't you have any names you like?” Merlin asks. He has a few ideas, but it seems rude not to ask. It isn't going to be _his_ name after all. And names are very important. He can hear his voice thinking.

“ _ I like Ambrosius, _ ”  he says.

Merlin nods. “Like the old King,” he agrees, “He was powerful and strong and able to protect his Kingdom from all the bad things. He even had magic, but it's a secret now because everyone thinks magic is bad.”

“ _ Right _ .”

There had been a traveling Bard that had passed through Ealdor just last moon. The people gave him food and shelter in return for his music. They may not have much, but the idea of a Bard is an exciting one. Ealdor is a little village. Right on the border between two powerful Kingdoms, no one pays it any mind. News is always weeks old and no one ever stops.

So to have a Bard here is a real treat. And the Bard seemed grateful enough for what he was given, even if it wasn't anything fancy. He didn't look overly fancy himself. Not like he had ever been to Court or sung for Kings.

But , ah, he _had_ seen them. And he had wonderful stories to tell. Every night, after all the work was done, the adults gathered in what passed as a tavern and listened to him. Merlin didn't hear him then. He wasn't allowed. It was always better to stay out of sight where the adults were concerned.

During the day, however, was an entirely different story.

Merlin had chores during the day. Of course he did. Everyone had to work to survive here. But his Mum knew what he was like. And she knew what the other children were like. So she always sent him out into the forest to gather wood or forage any food he could find. He liked the forest. It was filled to the brim with life. And normally he is the only one in there.

The other villagers get nervous if they have to go into the forest. He thinks that's silly. There is nothing that is going to hurt them in here. Sure, some things are dangerous, but there are dangerous things everywhere. The forest isn't any different.

But Merlin wasn't the only one in the forest anymore. He ran into the Bard – literally.

“Careful little one,” he says, catching Merlin, “you don't want to fall, do you?”

“I fall all the time,” he answers with a shrug. Looking up, he takes the time to examine the Bard. This is the first time he has seen him close up. His hair reminds Merlin of autumn, when the leaves turn color and the world looks like it is on fire. His skin is tan from the sun. His clothes, while nice enough, are clearly patched.

It's his eyes that capture Merlin's attention. It's not the color – a soft brown. No. It's what is in them that he can't stop looking at. These are wise eyes. Eyes that have seen more than words can tell. Powerful eyes. And kind too. Kind with a warm heart.

“You're very pretty,” Merlin tells him.

The Bard chuckles. “Why thank you little one. And you are very special, aren't you?”

Merlin's eyes widen. “You can  _ tell _ ?” he asks, shocked. Can he really tell about his voice?

“It takes a special person to walk these paths. Although you might want to learn to listen and watch where you are going at the same time.”

Merlin nods seriously.

“ _ He's strange _ ,” his voice comments.

“ _ How _ ?” Merlin asks him.

“ _ He sees more. He feels it too _ .”

Merlin doesn't have to ask just what the Bard feels. It's the same thing Merlin feels. The same thing his voice feels. “ _ He's safe though, right _ ?”

“ _ He feels safe. And the others wouldn't let him stay of he wasn't _ .”

His voice has a very good point there. But Merlin finds it is always better to ask. He seems to just know these things.

“Tell me, would you like to hear a story?” the Bard asks.

Merlin jumps with excitement and about trips over a root. “Oh yes Sir. Please Sir.”

The Bard laughs. “Sir. Can't say I've heard that one in a while. The name is Todric lad.”

“I'm Merlin,” he introduces, then he frowns, “Everyone else has to pay you for your stories. Do I?” Because Merlin didn't have anything to give him.

Todric laughs again and shakes his head. “Just show me around these woods and it will be fine. I'm sure you have things to do in here, hmm?” he raises an eyebrow.

Merlin blushes, but nods. “Mum needs more wood for the fire,” he says.

“Well then, let us get your Mum her wood. It isn't polite to keep a Lady waiting you know.”

Merlin giggles, no one had ever called his Mum a Lady before. He thinks he is right though. His Mum is _definitely_ a Lady.

And so that is how Merlin and the Bard passed the day, and then the week, until he moved on. Everyone was sad to see him go, but Merlin and his voice most of all. Because every day Merlin would be sent out into the woods. And every day Todric would meet him there and tell him stories. And not just any stories, but stories with Kings and fighting and honor. Stories with  _ magic _ .

Todric seemed to know an awful lot about magic. And he seemed like he wanted to give it all to Merlin. He soaked it up – they both did – as they listened. These were secret stories. They knew that without being told. But they were also precious because no one else would tell them. Magic was a wonderful thing in them, something prized, not feared. People knew what is was in these stories.

And yes, sometimes they would do bad things with it. But there was always a hero that went out and fought against the bad magic and made everything right again. And how else do you fight magic, but with more magic?

It was the most wonderful week of their entire lives, having Todric with them each day. When it was time to leave, he made sure to say goodbye to Merlin alone. Merlin clung to him, not wanting to let go. “Do you have to leave?” he asked, tears in his eyes.

“I'm afraid I must little one. The life of a Bard is a traveling one. And your village can't afford another mouth for long.”

“I can do it,” Merlin insists, “I can take care of you and Mum and you can live with us.”

Todric chuckles and ruffles Merlin's hair. “I have no doubt you would find a way. But nothing is forever. Just like the seasons, everything changes. You must allow the change to happen, for the earth to be healthy. Do you understand?”

Merlin nods and tightens his hug.

“You're a good lad,” he says kindly, “Don't let anyone tell you differently. One day you are going to change the world.”

“For good?” he asks. Because he doesn't want to change the world if he is going to hurt it.

“For good,” Todric confirms and gently pries Merlin off of him. “You are special Merlin. Don't ever forget that. Don't let anyone make you ashamed of it. Remember.”

Merlin nods seriously.

And then Todric is gone.

“ _ Is everything alright _ ?” Merlin asked his voice, “ _ you didn't talk much this week _ .”

“ _ I was listening. He was so...  _ different _ . He didn't think magic is evil. He told all the good stories about it. Where it helps people. _ ”

“ _ He did. _ ”

“ _ I think... I think he knew about me. About my magic. That's why he told us those stories. So we would know the truth. _ ”

That sounded reasonable to Merlin.

“ _ It was... odd, being noticed. _ ”

“ _ But that's not a bad thing, is it _ ?”

“ _ Not this time no _ .”

And so, a moon after Todric the Bard left, his voice chose the name Ambrosius.

Life goes on, as it always does. Both Merlin and Ambrosius grow. Ambrosius grows in magic – what he can do and how well he can control it. Merlin just grows – all awkward angles and sharp edges. He still has trouble paying attention to his feet more than everything else, but he becomes better at it. Slowly, true, but also surely. His Mum despairs sometimes, when he comes back with a new cut or fresh bruises, but she smiles all the same.

He knows she worries still. What parent wouldn't? Her child is born a powerful sorcerer in a time when it is dangerous to have any kind of magic at all. But she does her best by him, urging him to keep it secret, but never making him feel ashamed. She tells him it is a gift, although a hard one to bear.

Merlin never tells her about Ambrosius. He's not sure how without making her worry more. Without sounding crazy. How do you tell someone there is another person in your head? It would sound crazy to Merlin if he didn't have Ambrosius. So he never says that it's not _him_ that has magic.

No one likes him anymore as he grows older. Instead they begin to shun him. The strange bastard who spends all his time in the forest. Who knows what he does in there. Who knows how he always comes out unharmed. Surely there is something wrong with him. It's almost as if they can sense the differences between him and them. It's unnerving.

People go out of their way to avoid him. They draw the sign against evil if he looks at them for more than a moment. Children scream and run, throwing rocks and insults at him. So he spends even more of his time alone in the forest. It's almost ironic that they drive him into the very place they persecute him for spending time. Only he isn't laughing.

“ _ It's not your fault, _ ”  Ambrosius tells him as Merlin sits on a fallen log, staring at the ground. The latest taunts are still ringing in his ears.

“Isn't it? How do you know? Maybe there is something wrong with me. There has to be a reason they hate me so much.”

“ _ They hate you because they are ignorant. They couldn't see past their own nose if their lives depended on it _ .”

“You don't know that.”

“ _Yes I do. I'm in your head remember? I know exactly what it's like in here. There is_ nothing _wrong with you,_ ” Ambrosius says firmly.

“Maybe that's the problem,” Merlin mutters. Or maybe the problem is Ambrosius himself. Maybe _he's_ what's wrong with Merlin. Not that he really thinks that. Ambrosius is his best friend. He doesn't know what he would do without him. Be even more alone. The only other person he has is his Mum. And she can't be with him all the time. Even if he is the problem, Merlin would rather they hate him then lose him.

Ambrosius is silent and Merlin worries that he picked up on that poisonous thought. He desperately hopes not. He can't lose Ambrosius. He  _ can't _ .

“ _ I'm not going anywhere, _ ”  he says, “ _ Besides, where could I go _ ?” he jokes, trying to lift Merlin's mood.

It doesn't work. Merlin shrugs. He does have a point. All Ambrosius can do is see what Merlin sees. Go where Merlin goes. He has no body of his own. No way to escape or explore or anything. “Do you ever get lonely?” he asks then.

There is a pause and then Ambrosius answers, “ _ No I don't. I have you and, in a way, I have Mum. I don't need anyone more than that. _ ”

“Than I shouldn't either,” Merlin says firmly. “I have you and I have Mum. Why do I need more?”

“ _ Because you're not like me. You like people. _ ”

“And you don't?” Merlin asks curiously.

“ _ It's not that I do not like them, it's that... they are so strange. You make sense because I am in your head. I understand what you are thinking. Them? I use your context to judge them and I still think they are... petty. Rude. Odd. There are none that I would want to talk to, even if I could _ .”

“That does seem lonely,” Merlin says. “And they aren't that strange. Mainly all they want to do is survive,” he continues, “Just like us. They want good food and healthy family and friends and people to support them.”

“ _ But unlike them, we have a different view of the world. Magic. It sets us apart, no matter how much you might wish it otherwise. And I cannot like those that mock you so. _ ”

Merlin can feel his face heating up. Alright, so maybe Ambrosius heard that treacherous thought after all. He still doesn't mean it. Not really. It's just...

“ _ I might not be lonely, but you are _ ,” Ambrosius finishes for him.

“You're my best friend. I don't know what I would do without you,” Merlin says quickly, both to defend himself and to reassure him.

“ _ But I'm still not enough _ ,” Ambrosius says what Merlin can't.

Merlin hangs his head, ashamed. A feeling of warmth floods him. It is as if he has gone swimming in a pool of sunlight. That makes Merlin smile now. There is nothing else like this in the world. Not even Mum's hug. And nothing could make him give it up.

“ _ We are different from other people. There is no shame in that. But we are also from each other. Face it Merlin, I see darkness while you see light, _ ”  Ambrosius says gently.

“You're not that bad,” Merlin says in protest, “You make it sound as if you don't see the good in anything. You do.”

“ _ In nature? In the world? _ ”  he answers, “ _ Aye, I do then. But in the people in your village? I can appreciate that things are not as black and white as they appear to be for me. There is no easy answer. But at the same time, you are the person who matters the most to me. And they hurt you, continuously with their words and actions. Why would I care for any of them? _ ”

“They're not bad,” Merlin says, shaking his head. “People aren't bad, they're just... people,” he shrugs.

“ _I'm not saying that I think all people are evil or anything like that,_ ” Ambrosius shrugs, which is always an odd feeling in Merlin's head, “ _I am sure that with people that they like, they are different. But we've hardly seen that side of them, have we?_ ”

“But it's still there,” Merlin says softly.

“ _ It's still there _ ,” Ambrosius repeats in agreement.

“What about Will? What do you think of him?” he asks cautiously, feet kicking the log he is sitting on.

Ambrosius snorts in amusement. “ _ I was wondering when you were going to bring him up _ .”

Merlin blushes even fiercer this time. “He seems nice. Funny. Curious. He doesn't care that I spend all my time in the woods. Or that I'm the village bastard. He doesn't have a Mum like I don't have a Da. And he's never made the sign of evil like everyone else,” Merlin lists all the positives he can think of.

Will, his Da and his little sister had moved into the village two years ago now. They had kept to themselves at first and no one seemed to know what to think. But then as they began to talk and interact more, everyone learned that they had moved here from further inside Cenred's kingdom. They had been farmers there, but then there had been a bad drought and Will's Mum had died. They came here for a fresh start. After hearing that, everyone welcomed them in.

“ _ He does seem curious about you, yes. Do you think that's a good thing? _ ”  Ambrosius asks.

Merlin gives the log another hard kick. “It seems like it. He doesn't look like he is trying to play a trick on me or mock me.”

“ _ You don't think he wants to know about the 'freak in the woods' _ ,” Ambrosius quotes.

Merlin flinches, but shakes his head. “I think he really wants to be my friend,” he says earnestly.

“ _ You know you don't need my permission to talk to him. You can if you want to. _ ”

“But I want to know what you think. If you don't like him then I'll ignore him,” Merlin says loyally.

“ _Thank you, but I think this is something that you should decide for yourself. He is going to be_ your _friend, not mine._ ”

“You don't want him to know about you,” Merlin confirms, nodding, “But you are still in my head. You see what I see. And I don't want to hang around someone that you hate.”

“ _ I don't hate anyone. But do I like him? I don't know. I guess we will have to see _ .”

Merlin smiles brightly. “Thank you!” he grins.

“ _ No need to thank me. Just be careful until you know him better, _ ”  Ambrosius cautions.

Merlin nods, seeing the logic behind that. “I will,” he promises as he jumps up to finish his chores. The sooner he can get done, the sooner he can see if maybe Will wants to play after all.

:::

“She's sending us away,” Merlin sobs as he curls up against a tree. The setting sun casts eerie shadows over the forest, but he doesn't care. Mum had just told him that she is sending him away. To Camelot. She has a friend there who will look out for him, she had said.

But Merlin doesn't want to go. Leave Ealdor? The only place he has ever known? Leave his Mum? Will? Just to go live with someone that he never even knew existed. It's not even their kingdom! Sure they are on the border, but they are from Essetir , not Camelot. “It's all those stupid rumors fault,” he cries, “We didn't do anything.”

Ambrosius tries to reassure him. “ _ She is just trying to keep us safe. _ ”

“What do you care? You never liked anyone here anyways. This isn't your home. You're probably happy that we're leaving,” Merlin says hotly. He regrets it as soon as he does. This isn't Ambrosius' fault. None of it, even if a small, cruel part of Merlin wants to say it is. “I'm sorry,” he mutters.

“ _ It's fine _ ,” Ambrosius says.

But Merlin knows it isn't. He can feel it. He's found, over the years, although Ambrosius will never say anything about it, not belonging can be a touchy subject, just like Merlin himself. He will never fit in village life. Ambrosius... he might never fit in any place at all. Only with Merlin. He claims it isn't lonely, that he doesn't need people, and Merlin believes him for the most part. But sometimes he wonders.

Does he really not need people? Or does he think that because he will never have that? Better to convince yourself that you don't want something than forever want something out of your reach. Not everyone needs many people, but everyone needs someone. Right? Is Merlin really enough for Ambrosius? Or is he just convincing himself of that?

Sometimes it feels as if Ambrosius is restless. As if he needs something more, but doesn't know what. He's reaching into the shadows to see if he can find it. Like he's looking for his own purpose.

“Maybe this will be better,” Merlin says then. No need to make this harder than it will already be. He is going, whether he likes it or not. Mum had made that clear. So why drag it out and make everyone around him miserable. And maybe it really will be better. Maybe he can finally find a place to fit in. People to call his friends. A new adventure.

Yeah. Leaving is going to be hard, but maybe this is what he is meant to do. Go out and find a place for himself in the world. Maybe even find the answers to the questions that Ambrosius doesn't know how to ask.

“ _ Never forget about your hope, _ ”  Ambrosius says.

It's an odd thing to say, but he nods anyways. “I won't,” he promises. He won't.

:::

“ _ What are we being dragged into _ ?” Merlin asks, staring up at his ceiling. He should be sleeping, but he finds he can't close his eyes, thoughts swirling too fast through his head. It is only his first week in Camelot and it has been crazy – dragons and 'rewards' and revenge and destiny. What in the world?

Is this what his life is going to be now?

Ambrosius is decidedly silent, not answering the question. He had been strangely silent all week, for the most part. Oh he agrees that Arthur – the Prince – is an absolute prat. But other than that? He hasn't been talking much. It's worrying.

Their introduction to Camelot was a shock, that was sure. First they get a first hand demonstration about how the kingdom deals with magic. Then they meet the prat that is its prince. Then a dragon –  _ dragon –  _ chained up below the dungeons tell them that it is their destiny to protect said prat. Only no, not them. Merlin. It's Merlin's destiny apparently. The annoying lizard didn't mention Ambrosius at all. Does he even know about him? Likely not.

“ _ Ambrosius _ ?” he asks.

“ _ Maybe it's true, _ ”  he answers.

“ _ What _ ?” Merlin snorts, “ _ that the prat is suppose to bring Albion into a Golden Age it has never seen before and bring magic back to the land? Not likely from what we've seen. You haven't decided that you actually like him, have you? _ ”

“ _ No. I think he's a spoiled brat, _ ”  Ambrosius says, reassuring him, “ _ but what if this is why I'm in your head? Maybe you do get stuck protecting the prat and I have to help you. Magic is illegal here, but sometimes you have to fight fire with fire. Maybe this is why I'm here, _ ”  he repeats.

Merlin thinks this over. Thinks about how Ambrosius is still restless sometimes, searching. Thinks about why he was born this way to begin with. Thinks about what all of this could mean. “ _ Maybe _ ,” he agrees softly.

“ _ If nothing else, _ ”  Ambrosius adds, “ _ we are stopping the civil war that would eventually erupt if the prat is killed without another heir to the throne. _ ”

Merlin snorts at that. “ _ That would be bad _ ,” he says, “ _ I still don't like him though. _ ”

“ _ I'm not going to argue with that, _ ”  Ambrosius says dryly.

Merlin grins at that. “ _ Gwen is nice though. So is Morgana, though she can be scary. _ ”

“ _ That one would be a strong Queen _ ,” Ambrosius says.

“ _ And she doesn't seem any more impressed with Arthur than we do. _ ”

“ _ Think we should help support another to the throne _ ?” Ambrosius jokes.

Merlin snorts, imagining it, although he knows they never would. “ _ I'm sure we could get her to agree to make Arthur wear the hat. _ ”

Ambrosius laughs. “ _ I am going to set fire to that hat the first chance I get _ .”

“ _ Good, _ ”  Merlin says, grumbling. He really hates that hat. Prat.

Ambrosius hums in agreement. “ _ You should get some sleep now. Gods know the prat is likely to throw you in the stocks again if you are late _ .”

Merlin sighs and closes his eyes, knowing it is true. Tomorrow is going to be another long day. Fortunately it is easier to fall asleep after that.

:::

“Why isn't my room cleaned yet?” Arthur complains when he walks in the door from training.

Merlin rolls his eyes, automatically going over to help him out of the armor. “Maybe because I've been busy doing everything else?” he suggests sarcastically.

“Honestly you are so useless, I don't know why I keep you around,” Arthur grumbles.

“Of course not Sire,” he says, use to it by now. He knows Arthur no longer means it – most of the time. In the beginning? Definitely, but not now when they are friends. Not that Arthur will ever admit it out loud – he is truly terrible with emotions – but Merlin knows they are. Not only have they've been through too much together, Merlin can now read him.

Sure it would be nice to hear it said out loud every now and again, but something in Arthur might break if he does. He is _really, truly_ terrible with emotions. Personally Merlin blames Uther for that one. He was a good king, if a hard one. But a good father? Technically yes, sort of, but he was even worse at emotions than Arthur is. Not that Merlin will ever admit that to anyone. Even he knows that's crossing the line.

Thinking about the past is enough to make his head spin some days. It was a rough start, that is for sure. Arthur thought Merlin was actually useless back then. Merlin thought Arthur was a prat. Neither of them liked the other. Funny how quickly that changed.

“ _ He's still a prat, _ ”  Ambrosius adds.

Merlin looks down so that Arthur doesn't see him smiling. “ _ Yeah _ ,” he agrees, “ _ but he's our prat _ .”

“ _How unfortunate_ ,” Ambrosius says, sounding serious, but Merlin knows that he isn't. True Ambrosius _did not_ like Arthur when they first met. He reminded him too much of the villagers they left behind. And he took longer to warm up to Arthur than Merlin, but he got there eventually. Saving Merlin's life went a long way towards that.

Even before that, the fact that he was helping him when both he and Merlin were dying showed that already something was growing. That entire thing was quite the experience. Merlin learned very quickly how much Ambrosius hates being helpless. Bad enough he couldn't do anything to help Merlin, but without a body of his own, he was even more trapped than usual.

“ _ Oh stop it. I know you like him. You can't fool me, _ ”  Merlin says.

“ _ Not more than you do, _ ”  Ambrosius says, definitely teasing now.

“ _ Stop that, _ ”  Merlin says, scolding as he lifts Arthur's chainmail over his head.

“ _ Just because you're embarrassed doesn't mean it's not true, _ ”  Ambrosius says smugly.

“ _ And just because it is true doesn't mean that you have to tease me about it _ ,” Merlin says sourly. “ _ There's no reason to point it out. Nothing will ever come of it. Arthur doesn't feel that way. Besides he is King. A King needs heirs. _ ”

Ambrosius snorts. “ _ To the second, there's this funny thing called adoption. I don't know why it is seemingly looked down upon. It sounds perfectly sensible to me. Less risk, doing it that way. And to the first, can you please not be as oblivious as the prat we serve? Dealing with one is enough, thank you very much, without adding another. _ ”

Arthur finishes taking off his clothes and gets into the bath that Merlin has waiting for him. He sighs when warm water hits sore muscles. He had been out with the knights extra time today, working off the stress he has been feeling lately. Either that or avoiding the paperwork he knows he has waiting for him. It's a bit of both likely. Arthur is proving to be a fair and just King, just like Merlin knew he would, but that still doesn't mean Arthur likes sitting around anymore now than he did as a Prince.

Merlin has to look away after hearing that particular sound. It is almost indecent. And his mind does not need the encouragement. Not that he doesn't know what Arthur looks like, being his manservant after all these years. He gets to work, wiping down the armor. It's always easier to remove all the dirt before it has had time to settle in. “ _ Now you're just being mean. No one is as oblivious as Arthur _ .”

“ _ True. I think it's all the head injuries _ ,” Ambrosius says, snickering.

Merlin barely has to stop to think about that before giving an agreeing, “ _ True, _ ”  to that. Arthur does seem to hit his head a ridiculous amount of times. Good for them to work their magic unseen. Bad for Arthur's intelligence and observational skills – any that is left anyways.

As Arthur gets out and dries off, Merlin continues to work, first on the armor, then the sword and finally doing the cleaning up that Arthur had been complaining about. To be fair, the room is a mess. Things are spread out across every likely surface and a few unlikely ones. But to be even more fair, this isn't Merlin's fault. It isn't as if he doesn't do this same thing daily. He is not the one making a mess. Never let it be said that, in private, Arthur is a neat person. Merlin doesn't even know how half of this stuff got to be where it is.

From the corner of his eye, Merlin watches as Arthur sits at his desk and gets to work. Running a hand through still wet hair, he begins reading the first of the scouting reports. Nothing serious fortunately. Everything has been quiet for now – although he knows just how quickly that can change. There never seems to be any warning before disaster strikes around here.

Once all of the dirty clothes are in a pile and ready to be dropped off to the maid for laundry, he begins making the bed. Thank goodness Merlin no longer has to worry about the most basic chores by now – laundry, mending and the like. At first he was told to do it – which was a disaster in and of itself – but then he found a maid willing to help him with it. More than one in fact.

“ _ That's because you have the royal household wrapped around your little finger, _ ”  Ambrosius says. “ _ They all adore you by now – the King's cheeky manservant _ .”

Merlin shakes his head. “ _ I don't know why. I didn't do anything special or anything _ .”

“ _ One might say making the prat more human is a minor miracle in of itself. I'd say that counts, _ ”  he says then. “ _ Then again, it might also have something to do with that smile of yours. _ ”

Merlin gives the pillow an extra hard fluff to cover the noise of his snort. “ _ How would you know? It's not as if you know what I look like when I smile. Have you ever even seen my reflection? _ ”

“ _ As if it's hard to figure out from the expression on their faces. And I know what you look like thank you very much, _ ”  Ambrosius says, crossing his arms. Well, that's what it feels as if he is doing anyways.

It never fails to be an odd sensation, Ambrosius 'using' physical expressions in his speech. It is something he definitely learned from Merlin because why would someone without a body shrug or roll their eyes or a number of things he does. And Merlin always knows what he is doing, somehow. It's hard to explain, but there is a certain... tingle to it that tells him. Very odd.

“ _ You never know _ ,” Merlin says in reply.

“ _ Your faith in me is overwhelming, _ ”  Ambrosius says dryly.

“ _ I'm so glad _ ,” Merlin tells him. Bed done, he turns and looks around the room. What next? Then he sees Arthur, clearly having finished his reports, staring down at the desk, pen in hand. His expression can only mean one thing – he is trying to write a speech. Trying being the key word. It doesn't look as if it is going well.

Merlin only lasts a few more moments of watching him before he sighs, abandons the rest of the cleaning and stalks over to the desk. “Give me that,” he says, pulling the parchment away from him.

“Why yes Merlin, of course you can look at my speech. Please it would be my pleasure,” Arthur says sarcastically.

Merlin rolls his eyes. “Prat,” he says and makes a face, “You really don't want to write this, do you? This is terrible.” He grabs the pen and begins making corrections.

Arthur snorts. “Oh just sit down already,” he says.

Merlin hums and pulls the extra chair over from the corner of the room and sets it on the other side of the desk. Incidentally this is exactly what this chair is for. This is hardly the first time Merlin has written one of Arthur's speeches. Or completed his paperwork. This isn't something he would admit to anyone, but he's signed off on more than one thing as Arthur. He's quite good at copying his signature actually. And he leaves his seal laying around on his desk. So why not? It's not as if he's ever abused that power.

It started even before Arthur was technically King. Still a Prince, but ruler in all but name, he had been floundering, just a little, adjusting to everything. Then, once he became King in truth, it became even more intense. Arthur was even busier, having to prove himself all over again, while adjusting to having the crown to back up his authority now. Plus he was still grieving Uther in private.

Merlin couldn't simply stand by and watch so he started helping where he could. That usually meant just this – speeches and paperwork. Not that Arthur can't write his own speeches, but it's easier for Merlin to do it while he works on other things. Thus the extra chair.

They work until supper, at which time Merlin stretches and goes to get it himself. Oh he could have someone else do this, but it feels good to move after so long. Really Merlin can see why Arthur is less fond of spending all day at his desk or on the throne. Especially with someone as active as Arthur is use to being. Maybe it would be easier of he had a Queen, but after Gwen ended up with Lancelot – with Arthur's blessing as well – he hasn't made any more effort to find another one.

In a way it's a shame. Gwen would have made a wonderful Queen, there is no doubt about that. Kind, with a caring heart and charming way with words. The people would have loved her. But she is happy with Lance. Ultimately that is where her heart lay, even before Arthur was an option. Thus why Arthur made sure that both of them knew that. Because Lance was willing to back down, for Arthur's sake, but he wouldn't hear of it.

Merlin was rather proud of the way he handled the whole thing. Especially because he saw how Arthur was like in private. He was more disappointed than he let on. He genuinely cares for Gwen after all.

But since then, he hasn't even looked for another Queen. Not that Merlin knows of anyways. He still holds that Arthur should be allowed to marry for love. He has given up so much and is so dedicated to his people, shouldn't he be allowed this in return? That can't be too much to ask.

So Merlin has picked up the extra work instead.

“ _ Becoming Arthur's Queen instead, _ ”  Ambrosius says.

“ _ What is with you today _ ?” Merlin asks, frowning, on his way to the kitchen, “ _ You never bring my feelings up like this. And you sound extra... fierce about it too. _ ”

“ _ Maybe I'm tired of watching you two pine for each other, _ ”  Ambrosius says.

Merlin gives him the equivalent of a blank look and then smiles as he walks into the kitchen. There is already a tray made up. He nods and grins to the nearest helper before picking it up. “Thanks,” he says.

She blushes.

“Oh Merlin,” another girl adds, “ here.” She places an extra helping of dessert down.

Merlin grins even wider at her. “Trying to fatten the King up Sophie?” he asks.

She snorts. “Trying to put some meat on your bones. If eating from the royal table doesn't do it, I don't know what will.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” he says innocently.

“Of course you don't. Now go on before his Majesty gets cranky,” she says, shooing him off.

He leaves with a laugh. Alright, so it might be a bit of an open secret how much Merlin is helping run the kingdom. Among the servants anyways. Merlin is sure that the nobles have no idea. Best to keep it that way. Still, it means he gets the extra help he needs so he has time for other things. Not that he would wish Uther dead sooner – for Arthur's sake at least – but it's a shame that he couldn't have had this help earlier. It would have made his job keeping Arthur alive run much smoother.

It's also amusing that they still see him as the young boy he was when he first arrived. Yes, he was rather lanky then. All limbs and practically no muscle. That has changed since then. He's bulked up, becoming stronger and harder. He'll never look like oh say Percy or even Arthur. But he is plenty strong now, even if people fail to notice it.

“ _ So _ ?” he asks once he is in the hall again.

Ambrosius sighs. “ _ I don't know, _ ”  he admits, “ _ Something is coming, but I don't know what. It's putting me on edge. _ ”

“ _ Something dangerous _ ?” Merlin asks, dreading the answer. He thought it had been too quiet around here lately.

“ _ Here's the thing –  _ I have no idea _ . That's what worries me so much. It's something in the air. Change is coming. And you know change never comes quietly around here _ .”

“ _ No it doesn't _ ,” Merlin says, resigned. If only it did. It would be nice for it to happen, just once. Unfortunately that never seems to be his luck. Or maybe it's Arthur's luck that is rubbing off on Merlin. Either way, he wishes it would stop. Life gives them enough trouble as is without adding to it.

“Aw Merlin, I thought you got lost,” Arthur says as he walks back into the room.

“Well you know, I stopped for a snack on the way,” he says, setting everything down on the table, “We can't have you eating everything now can we. I might have to add another hole in your belt again,” he teases.

“Hilarious,” Arthur says dryly as he gets up from the desk, stretches and comes over. “Truly you missed your calling. Smells delicious,” he adds.

Merlin shrugs as he sits. “I can juggle too you know.”

Arthur looks up at him. “What? Since when? You're so clumsy you'd likely drop the first ball before you could get going.”

“Try me,” Merlin shrugs.

Arthur, being Arthur, takes Merlin for his word literally and throws and apple at him right then and there.

Fortunately Merlin had been expecting something like this and catches it with ease. He smirks and raises a challenging eyebrow at him. Arthur throws him two more next and Merlin begins. It's easy by now. This is something that he taught himself to do when he was younger in pure self defense. The logic behind it was helping him focus on more than one thing at once. If he could juggle and walk then surely he could walk and feels everything around him as well. It worked with varying degrees of success.

He was a disaster when he first started. He couldn't even juggle to begin with, let alone walk at the same time. Even when he got the juggling part down, sometimes he would focus on that and nature and forget to walk. Or run right into something. Or fall.

It was really only after he came to Camelot did he master the art of feeling and walking at the same time. He had to – he had to be on his guard all the time. Still, Camelot was infinitely different than Ealdor. There was even more to it, even if it was different. Walking was not something he managed gracefully at first.

But he can juggle fine, especially with nothing else to focus on. So even when Arthur throwing all six of their apples at him, he can keep up.

Arthur raises an eyebrow. “I'm impressed,” he says, “It looks as if you have hidden talent after all. Now if only that applied to your actual job as well.”

“Do you even know what my actual job was suppose to have been when I came to Camelot? Because it sure didn't include serving you,” he says pointedly. Even if that was what his destiny called for. He didn't know that then though.

Arthur actually looks stumped at this.

Merlin sighs. “I came to be Gaius' apprentice you know. I was suppose to work with herbs and sickness, not spoiled prats.”

“So you got promoted then,” Arthur says with a smirk.

Merlin, acting quickly, throws one of the apples he is still juggling at Arthur before continuing. He never misses a beat.

“I should throw you in the stocks for that,” he threatens halfheartedly.

“Then who would finish your speech?” Merlin asks, not worried a bit. It has been years since Arthur has carried through with that threat. It's now just another layer to their banter.

“As surprising as this my sound to you, I can write my own speeches,” Arthur says.

“ Sure,” Merlin shrugs, “but can you write them  _ well _ ?” he asks.

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Eat your chicken Merlin,” he orders.

Merlin grins. “Yes Sire,” he says, setting the apples down and taking a large bite, just for show.

Arthur huffs, but he is smiling as well, even if it is down at his plate of food. “You're ridiculous, you know that?” he asks.

Merlin nods and swallows. “I have to keep up you see. You're so much farther ahead then I am.”

“Insolent too,” Arthur adds.

“You'd be bored otherwise,” Merlin says.

“Gods forbid,” Arthur says dryly.

Merlin shakes his head, continuing to eat his meal.

Arthur does the same, both of them relaxing after a long day.

“ _ Idiots _ ,” Ambrosius says, grumbling at the two of them.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, guys, you have no idea how much this didn't want to come out. Seriously, it was ridiculous. Also, enjoy Mordred because he insisted on being in here as well.

“Oh sure, let's go hunting for the day. It'll be fine you said. Nothing will happen you said. Don't be such a girl you said,” Merlin grumbles as they are surrounded by a group of well armed bandits. He withholds a sigh. Why is it always bandits?

“Will you shut up?” Arthur hisses beside him, tense.

“ _ Bandits and sorcerers and monsters, oh my, _ ”  Ambrosius says sarcastically.

Merlin has to stop the laugh from escaping even as he warily watches the group. He hadn't thought this was a good idea when Arthur suggested it this morning. Neither had Ambrosius. But Arthur had made up his mind. The two of them were going to spend a day hunting, just like they did when he was still the prince.

To be fair, Merlin does understand why Arthur wanted this. He has been getting restless lately and stressed. He does need a break. Merlin just wishes that break didn't involve Merlin and no one else. At least if some of the other knights were with them now, things wouldn't look so bad. It's not as if Arthur isn't friends with his inner circle after all. It would have been just as relaxing. Fine.

Fine, that's only partly true. Part of Merlin had been secretly thrilled about the idea. Not the hunting part obviously, but spending time with Arthur and just Arthur without any pressure or interruptions. He always knew things would change when Arthur became king. It was inevitable. That doesn't mean he doesn't sometimes miss the times before then. The crown is a heavy burden to bare.

Still, something about that had sounded like a bad idea. And here they are.

“Look what we have here men,” the bandit who looks like the leader says, “And here we thought we were going to have to work hard for this, but two slaves have landed right in our hands.”

And now Merlin is really worrying. Not only are they outnumbered, they are the healthiest and best armed group of bandits Merlin has ever seen. There is nothing Ambrosius can do with so many witnesses and Arthur can't do everything by himself.

Arthur stiffens, drawing himself up. “Slavery is outlawed in Camelot,” he says firmly.

The leader laughs at that. “Because we are so worried about the law, right boys?”

The others join in the laughter.

“And who said anything about Camelot? There are plenty of other places that will pay well for able body boys such as yourself. Well,” he adds, eyeing Merlin, “able bodies and pretty boys. Eh sweetheart? I bet you are a good one, aren't ya?”

Merlin stares, but doesn't say anything to that. Even he can tell when it is a bad time to mouth off. And now sounds like a _very_ bad time. Arthur growls softly beside him, gripping his sword tightly. It makes Merlin feel slightly better.

“ _ He tries anything and he is going to lose it _ ,” Ambrosius reassures him.

That makes Merlin feel even better. Not that he thought Ambrosius wouldn't do something, but it is still nice to hear.

“Get them men,” the leader says.

Arthur instantly snaps into action. Merlin and Ambrosius back him up as well as they can, but it is useless from the start. The only way they could win was if Ambrosius did something drastic and he can't. Not now. Not with Arthur right there. That would be another kind of disaster. It's not as if they won't be able to escape later.

Soon they are unarmed and forced to the ground. Sticks and rocks poke Merlin in the knees as he is, grimacing. The man who is holding him is none too gentle about it either. It's rather uncomfortable actually. His arms are twisted behind his back with a sharp motion uncaringly. Oh he is going to be feeling that when this is over. He already is.

“ _ Don't worry, _ ”  Ambrosius says, “ _ I'll _ -”

Metal is snapped around his wrists. The reaction is instant. Ambrosius stops talking, cutting off what he was going to say. No, not only that. It is as if Ambrosius has disappeared from his mind. As if he was never there to begin with. He feels nauseous and dizzy. He is sure his face has paled dramatically, but he isn't sure. All he can focus on is how alone he is in his mind.

And then the pain starts. Merlin has to bite his tongue to keep from crying out. He refuses to show weakness now. That is the last thing he wants. But it feels as if something has been ripped out of him – maybe his heart or something equally insignificant like that. His entire world lights up with the pain. He hardly notices when he is halued to his feet and dragged along. He is thrown across a horse and carried away like a sack of grain.

But he doesn't care. It doesn't even register. All he can feel right now is the terrible of pain of... something. He isn't sure what. All he knows is that something has gone horribly, horribly wrong. He has never been alone in his head before. Ever since he could remember, Ambrosius has been there with him. And now he's not. And it hurts. It hurts so much.

Merlin thought he knew pain before. He has certainly gotten into enough trouble, protecting Arthur. But nothing has even come close to this. It is as if he is dying. His lungs are still working, his heart is still beating, but he is dying. Or part of him is. Maybe it is already dead. He doesn't know.

He tries to push it away. Tries to focus. Now is not the time. Arthur needs him. He needs Ambrosius. They need to get out of here. Something tells him this could be the end if they don't. The only thing they have going for them is that, miraculously enough, none of the bandits seem to realize just who they have captured. No need to tell them they currently have the King of Camelot in their grasps. That would make things even worse.

Damn it why couldn't Arthur have brought a couple of knights with him?

Why won't this pain stop? He thinks that he is going to be sick if it doesn't stop soon. And somehow he doesn't think the bandit holding him will appreciate that. The world is spinning and his stomach cramps and he can feel a chill running up his back. Something is terribly wrong here.

What?

They ride for what feels like forever before Merlin is shoved off the horse onto the ground. He slams face first into it. Of course he does. His hands are chained behind his back. Even if they weren't, he still thinks he would have. The world doesn't seem real right now. Nothing does. Not with the way the pain is overtaking everything.

He is picked up and dumped in front of a tree, where he is tied to it. He can't even feel the rope against his skin. That's... that's worrying. So is how hard it is for him to think right now.

Arthur is already there, glaring at them in displeasure. He glances at Merlin and his face blanks before he goes back to glaring.

Oh, he must look as bad as he feels then.

The bandits, now that they have gotten their prize, pay no attention to them. They begin setting up their camp.

A distant part of Merlin points of that they have equally good equipment for this, just like their weapons. This is no ordinary bandit group. Something else is going on here. Something big. More than that, Merlin can't focus on.

“Are you alright?” Arthur asks softly, so no one else can hear them.

“Hurts,” Merlin manages to say, “Dizzy. Sick.”

Arthur frowns. “They must have hit you on the head. Although how you managed to feel anything with that thick skull of yours is a mystery.”

Merlin shakes his head and then gasps. Oh that is a bad idea. “Yours,” he gasps, “your head cabbage brain.”

This seems to worry more than reassure Arthur.

Then again, he has right to be worried. Merlin is worried. And terrified. He has no idea what is going on. Why he hurts like this. If Arthur wants to assume head injury that's fine, but it's not. It is something much worse than that. It started as soon as he was shackled.

There is something there, something important about that. But what? What about the shackles? That something is trying to blame them for this, but why? He doesn't know. He can't think about it right now. He can't think at all. Without much thought, he lays his head on Arthur's shoulder and concentrates on breathing. That seems like a good place to start.

“It will be fine,” Arthur says in the same soft voice, “I'll get us out of here.”

How, Merlin wants to ask, but doesn't. Maybe he sees something that Merlin doesn't. Or maybe he just doesn't want Merlin to worry. Too late on that front. He already is.

It is evening now, with the sun casting shadows on the trees. Normally the sight of that wouldn't bother Merlin, but now they seem almost sinister. Like they are creeping up on the unsuspecting. Maybe they will eat the bandits. That would be good. He curls in on himself, still resting against Arthur.

Arthur is silent now, watching. He doesn't say anything else to Merlin about getting them out, but he is a solid presence against him. Real. He is the only thing that feels real right now. The only thing that is keeping him from drifting away. If only, he thinks vaguely and then thinks of Gwaine. Why is he thinking of Gwaine of all people? Sure he is a good friend but-

Oh. That's right. That is exactly why he is thinking of Gwaine right now. He just might kiss him, when he gets back. Slowly he curls up more, bringing his feet under him. Eyeing the group to make sure he doesn't draw their attention, he brings his boots as close as he can to his hands.

“Merlin?” Arthur asks, whispering.

“Plan,” he whispers back, voice strained. It takes some time, but eventually he reaches what he was looking for – a thin piece of wire. Perfect. Curling against Arthur more, he whispers, “Hands.”

Arthur carefully twists so that Merlin can reach them.

It takes everything in Merlin to concentrate on this. He isn't the best at picking locks, but Gwaine has showed him the basics. And he isn't bad really, he just needs time to practice more. And a place to practice without being accused of trying to steal state secrets. Why he would need to pick a lock to do that when he has Arthur, he doesn't know.

Arthur. He has to do this for Arthur. He has to get them out. Arthur can't. Ambrosius can't. It has to be him. He can't let him down. Not now. Not ever, but not now.

Dark has fully fallen now. Watch is set and the others go to sleep. None of them have glanced their way since they were tied here. That means no food or water, but that also means Merlin can work with one less worry. Good. The position isn't exactly the easiest. Nor is concentrating. But he keeps at it. It is clear that Arthur doesn't have a plan, so it is up to Merlin.

He works for what feels like forever when he hears a soft click. He about shouts in victory and has to duck so they don't see his grin. Got it. He did it. Yeah, Gwaine is getting that kiss when they get back. Right after he finishes yelling at Arthur.

And he can get the pain to finally stop.

“Can you reach your own?” Arthur asks.

Merlin tries, gritting his teeth. The angle is even more awkward and he can't seem to find the key hole. He is fumbling now, shaking. He can't seem to keep his hands steady enough to find it. At least with Arthur, once he found the hole it didn't matter. He was able to focus enough to get it open. Now it is even harder on his own.

It must be clear that he is struggling back Arthur leans against him, clearly making sure his freed hands aren't visible and says, “Here. Tell me what you need.”

It would be almost sweet if they weren't in such a bad position. “Angle, focus, fuck,” he mutters back.

Arthur sighs and starts spinning the shackles. “Here,” he says and takes Merlin's hand, helping the wire into the hole. “Better?”

Merlin breathes and concentrates. Better. Sure. But still not great. The moon is high in the sky when Merlin hears the click of them opening. As before, the reaction is immediate. The pain is gone and his body is flooded with... something. Something powerful. Something that needs to get out. Now. But Merlin holds it in. They can't draw attention to themselves. They still need to escape.

He still can't hear Ambrosius, but now is not the time to think about that. Now is the time to move. Slowly and carefully, oh so carefully, they creep out of the camp. Merlin has to focus on one foot in front of another. It is almost as if he is drunk. He has only been drunk once, also because of Gwaine. Some might say he is a bad influence. Merlin says he is a loyal – if somewhat wild – friend.

Merlin grips Arthur's hand so he doesn't lose him. He is too busy looking down to spare much attention to where they are going. There is something about it though, that makes it feel more than this situation implies. Arthur's hand is warm like the rest of him, solid, and covered in callus from years of fighting. Reassuring.

Funny how reassuring Arthur can be, even when he is being a complete clotpole about it. He's become the one solid in Merlin's life besides Ambrosius. The one thing that never changes. Where Merlin is, Arthur will be. Where Arthur goes, Merlin will follow.

Merlin isn't sure how far they have gone when Arthur stops, pulling Merlin with him. They are in a hidden cluster of brush. He grits his teeth and hands.

“Merlin?” Arthur asks again, “Did they hit you that hard? Or are you still being a girl's petticoat? ” The words sound sharp, but underneath it is clear that he is worried.

Merlin looks up at him and opens his mouth to say something, but that is the exact moment he loses the fight with the flood. It rushes through him as everything goes black.

:::

Ambrosius comes to with a start. The last thing he remembers is reassuring Merlin and then nothing. He had been cut off. He couldn't talk to him or feel Merlin at all anymore. But that wasn't the worst part. No. The worst part was the all consuming darkness that closed around him. It trapped him, choking him. Not that he technically needs air to survive, but it is comparable.

It was as if nothing existed anymore. Total darkness, all encompassing silence, no touch or feel or anything. He was floating in a non existent space. Now he is free again and the world comes rushing back with a gasp.

That is when he knows something is very wrong. There is a strong feeling of magic in the air, as if it has just exploded. It tingles, making him shiver in reaction. For another, he can't feel Merlin. Or he can, but it is as if he is sleeping. His conscious isn't present, even if the rest of him is. There is no talking to him like that. That leads to the realization that _he_ is the one in charge of Merlin's body right now. That has certainly never happened before.

And lastly, he is holding the prat's hand for some strange reason. What? What in the world is going on?

Said prat is gaping at him in shock and quickly forming anger. “What is the meaning of this?” he demands more than asks.

Ambrosius raises an eyebrow at him, trying to adjust to the fact that he now has a physical body to expression himself with. It's an odd feeling to be sure. “You realize that I need to know what _this_ is before I answer, yes?”

“Magic,” Arthur spits, “you have magic. There was this explosion and now your eyes are gold. Since when have you practiced magic Merlin and what do you plan to do with it? Also, are you a complete idiot for living in Camelot?!”

Ambrosius blinks at the assault of words being thrown at him. It is much different when someone is talking to him directly rather than Merlin. Interesting. He crosses his arms. “You mean you haven't already decided what I 'plan to do'?” he says mockingly, “You must be growing slow. Surely it can't be that hard for you. Or have you hit your head?  _ Again _ ?”

Arthur growls at him. “You're not Merlin at all,” he says lowly.

Ambrosius rolls his eyes. “Well done. Obviously you aren't as stupid as you look. No I'm not.”

Arthur twitches and Ambrosius is sure that if he had his sword, it would be held to his throat. “What have you done to him?” he asks, although it is still in that demanding tone.

“What makes you believe I did anything with him? Oh right, because magic is evil and everyone who uses magic is evil and should be killed and magic is the source of all that is evil in the world. Clearly,” Ambrosius says dryly. Maybe he should be generous and remember this is the way Arthur had been brought up, but he has no patience for fools.

“Stop mocking me and tell me,” Arthur says.

Ambrosius sighs, going to answer, but then he hears something. He raises a hand, signaling for Arthur to stop talking. “Quiet,” he hisses.

“Why should I-” Arthur starts.

Of course he isn't going to listen. Why would he? He never has before after all. Ambrosius waves a hand and then there is silence.

Arthur glares venomously at him and moves, possibly to attack, but Ambrosius points. There. The noise is coming from that direction. Footsteps. He obviously hears them too now because he freezes, evening out his breath.

“They went this way,” a voice says.

“Are you sure?” another asks, “There's no sign of them.”

“No, but it's better to check just in case. Or do you want to be the one that tells the Boss we lost his profit and his pretty boy?”

Ambrosius grins viciously at that. He'd like to see them try.

The two men stop right outside their clump of brush.

“Besides, they couldn't have gotten fair. Not in this darkness.”

“At this rate, we'll be lucky to see ourselves, let alone them,” one complains.

“Orders are orders,” the first says practically, “Let's go.”

The footsteps retreat.

Both Arthur and Ambrosius wait until they can't be heard anymore. Then he removes the silencing spell. “We can talk later but for now we need a safe place to hide. Follow me.”

“Why should I?” Arthur asks stubbornly, but at least he is keeping his voice down. “How do I know this isn't a trap? And how do you know where to go in the first place?”

Ambrosius turns so that Arthur cannot fail to notice the gold his eyes apparently are. “How do you think?” he asks sarcastically, “The same way I always do. Come.” Focusing, he lights up a path that is invisible except through magic. “And if you still think this is a trap, after all of these years then you are stupider than I originally thought you were.”

“Excuse me?” Arthur asks, indignant.

Ambrosius shrugs. “You don't honestly believe that I liked you any more than Merlin did when we first met, do you? It's not as if you liked him in return. It's not my fault you don't like it. Now quiet,” he orders, “I don't know how many others are in the woods right now.”

“Can't you take care of that?” Arthur asks sharply.

“I could,” Ambrosius says, “but I would rather not leave them a trail to follow if it's all the same to you.”

Arthur is silent after that.

It takes some time, but eventually he finds a hidden cave that will be perfect for them to use. They could even light a fire without attracting attention. Good. Hopefully that helps put Arthur in a better mood. He's not talking, but he is definitely sulking. Ambrosius is under no illusion that things are going to go well once they can talk.

Once they are in, he sets a series of wards for good measure, including a silencing one. Arthur isn't exactly the quietest of people when he is angry. “Alright,” he says when he is done, “we can talk.”

“Oh can we now. Well thank you for your generous permission,” Arthur says bitingly.

Ambrosius sighs as he lights the fire. Oh it is going to be one of those days, is it? Oh joy.

“Now what have you done with Merlin?” Arthur demands again.

Ambrosius lets out another sigh, leaning against the cave wall. “I haven't done anything with him, relax. I assume that something – and no, I don't know what yet – knocked him out and brought me into the forefront of his mind.”

“You talk as if you have always been there,” Arthur says suspiciously from where he is sitting as far from Ambrosius as he can while still feeling the fire.

“I have been,” he shrugs, “ever since either of us can remember I have always been there.”

“That sounds crazy,” Arthur says.

“Thus why it is a secret. More of a secret anyways,” he adds.

“Then what?” Arthur snaps.

“My magic. Will you stop attempting to murder me with your eyes?” Ambrosius says wearily, “Things will be much easier if you don't question my every word.”

“And why should I believe a thing you say? You have magic.” Arthur's voice is hard.

Ambrosius shakes his head. “Why ask me anything at all if you aren't going to believe a word I say? All I'm doing is wasting my breath.”

“Maybe I'm trying to figure out what to do with you. You know the price for magic in Camelot.”

Ambrosius growls, low and dangerous. “You hurt Merlin and destiny or no, I _will_ remove your head from your shoulders, understand?” He is expecting a scoff or further threat, but Arthur pales and nods. “Good,” he says, “No one hurts Merlin.”

“Not even you?” Arthur asks challengingly. And then, “Destiny? What destiny?”

Ambrosius stares at him before nodding. “I know you know nothing of magic – your accusations speak for your ignorance – but have you ever heard the whispers of the Once and Future King?”

Arthur nods warily, clearly on guard. “Briefly. No one ever speaks of it if they know I am around, but yes. He is said to bring Albion into a Golden Age.”

“With the sorcerer Emrys at his side – thus why you never hear it. Well take a wild guess on who that Once and Future King is.”

“Me?” Arthur asks incredulously.

Ambrosius doesn't blame him. It is pretty unbelievable after all. Ironic. The son of the man who tried to wipe magic out – destined to rule with a sorcerer at his side. Two sides of the same coin. Damn that old lizard. “That's what we've been told. Repeatedly. By numerous sources. All the time,” Ambrosius says, exasperated.

“You don't sound thrilled with the idea,” Arthur notes.

Ambrosius turns his head to look out into the darkness. “At first? No. But you have a way of growing on people – like fungus,” he adds, looking at Arthur from the corner of his eye. He frowns, insulted, but Ambrosius continues, “Now I don't. Merlin came around to it sooner, but that's just his nature. He's fond, I'm loyal.”

He shakes his head. “It's just we get told so often, in so many ways, but no one seems to know what that really means. No one seems to know about _me_. For the longest time we thought I was another person – another soul – living in Merlin's head. One that just happen to have magic. It took us a long time to realize that I _am_ Merlin's magic. I just have my own personality for some reason. Only no one knows that. They think Merlin is Emrys.” He laughs at that.

Arthur is watching him now, assessing.

He closes his eyes, just feeling everything around him. “It's even in the name. When we were seven, I picked the name Ambrosius. That should have been our first clue then. But we were young and I picked it from the stories a passing Bard told. Even when we were first told our destiny, we didn't realize. It was all about you and Merlin. Emrys and the Once and Future King, saving the land and its people. They never stopped and ask questions. Why should they? You've already said it – it's crazy. It's true. Yet here I am,” he shrugs.

“And you really expect me to believe that? That you've been in Merlin all along?” Arthur asks skeptically.

Ambrosius shrugs again. “Believe it or not, it's the truth. I have been with Merlin ever since he was born. It's all I ever remember, watching the world through his eyes. Always present, always seeing and hearing, but always separated from it all. I never knew what true independence was like. All I knew was Merlin and this power I held inside me. How was I to know that power _is_ me? And the term is warlock, by the way.”

“What difference does that make?” Arthur asks harshly.

“Sorcerers – and sorceresses – have to learn and practice ways and spells and rituals to be able to do magic. You have to seek the knowledge out. Yes, some people have a stronger talent for it than others, but you have to learn. Like learning to use a sword,” he says, looking over to Arthur.

He is still glaring, but he nods to show he understands.

“Right. Now a warlock is different. A warlock is born with their magic – no studying required, it's just something they do. Sure as they learn more, their control over their magic grows. But if they never seek out that knowledge? They will still be a warlock. It's.. it's like breathing,” he says softly, “it hurts when you don't do it, not when you do.” He looks over sharply, “And if the next words out of your mouth is 'so some people are born evil' I swear to the Goddess Arthur Pendragon, you will _not_ like the results.”

There is an obvious pause at that. “You seem very... aggressive for someone you are suppose to share a destiny with,” he says warily.

“As I said, Merlin is the fond one. I'm loyal, but,” he shrugs, “I am sharper than he is. Protective. He might say overprotective actually. But that's the way I am. Although he's changed since coming to Camelot. He's had to, having to do what we do.”

Arthur lets out a snort. “Merlin? Do anything? You talk like he's actually useful.”

Ambrosius fixes Arthur with another look. “Do you really want to go there? Because I can list exactly what all he has done for you. Because he believes in you. And because you are awful at writing speeches,” he can't help adding.

Arthur scowls.

“Besides, you're never the same after your first battle, are you?” He closes his eyes and waits for Arthur to challenge that next. He doesn't, surprisingly. Maybe Ambrosius is finally getting through to him. Or maybe he's just being a stubborn arse and won't answer. He's good at that.

He can still surprise him though. “You said it was obvious I was ignorant of magic. What did you mean?”

“Just that,” Ambrosius says has he bends his knee to set his arm on it. He idly looks at it, examining it. It's odd, being in control. He notices inflamed skin around the wrist. Oh, well, that is a good clue as to why he was cut off the way he was when he was hackles. He bet they used iron shackles. Bastards. “You think of magic as a tool. Something to be used to hurt people. To be fair, that is all you have ever seen. There are,” he pauses, thinking, “well, call it a good half, of the magical population likely want you dead for what Uther did to them. And you, for continuing those laws.”

Arthur snorts. “Thanks for that,” he says dryly. “So it's not a tool for evil then?”

Ambrosius shakes his head. “It's not a tool at all. Oh it can be. It can be just like a sword – it depends on the person using it. But it is so much more than that. Magic is life itself. It's in everything – every animal, every plant, every person. It's impossible to kill because that would be killing life itself. And life always finds a way.”

“How can you be so sure?” Arthur asks quietly.

“It's hard to disprove what you feel,” Ambrosius says, “I've always been able to. Merlin too. It's another one of those things that, for us, just is. And to bring up a sore subject, because of the circumstances around your birth, you'd likely be able to feel it too with enough practice.”

There's no reply to that. Or no verbal one anyways. And Ambrosius isn't looking at him to see what expression he has. He throws more wood on the fire, keeping it going.

The silence stretches out, but Ambrosius doesn't mind. He's never really minded the silence. It's never as quiet as people think it is, when you can hear the world around you. Absently he cups a hand and lets fire form in it. With barely a thought it forms into a dragon, flying around his fingers with a flick of his wrist. He can't help but smile. Magic is truly a wondrous thing. It makes him feel so alive – which makes so much more sense now that he knows he is magic.

But before he did, it was the surest way to relax. And Merlin always loved watching what he could make. He had just as much fun watching, feeling the magic flow through him, even though he had no control over it.

He waves a hand and the dragon fades away. Next he brings his hands together and concentrates. When he opens them, a swarm of butterflies fly out. They circle him, landing on his skin briefly, before going out the cave.

Next he summons three of his light balls and begins to juggle them. A sharp breath draws him out of his focus, but he continues. “Yes?” he asks Arthur.

Arthur doesn't seem to know where to look. Or what to think. He is shocked and exasperated and well, many different emotions right then. “So you really are a girl then?” he asks, eyes never leaving those lights.

Ambrosius rolls his eyes. “I am a man, thank you very much. As is Merlin. Just because you have the emotional capacity of a teaspoon doesn't mean we all do.”

“Can you juggle because Merlin can or is that another one of your many talents?” Arthur asks.

Ambrosius flashes him a grin. “I'm flattered you think I'm so talented, but no, this is simply muscle memory. Merlin did all the hard work.”

“I still can't believe as clumsy as he is, he can juggle.” Arthur shakes his head.

“Merlin's problem isn't that he's inherently clumsy. He's just too busy focusing on everything else to pay attention to the ground beneath his feet. Too many other details to see and to feel.” Ambrosius doesn't miss the fact that Arthur seems to be slowly coming around, at least to the fact the he exists separately from Merlin, if nothing else.

“That explains a lot,” Arthur says dryly.

“Shall we talk about the number of times you hit your head during a crisis instead? Because there's a list,” Ambrosius says brightly.

“Oh shut up,” Arthur grumbles.

“No seriously,” Ambrosius continues, “how did you survive until Merlin arrived? Because half the reason that this has stayed a secret for so long is because you are always conveniently unconscious when I need to use my magic. I appreciate it, but you can't afford it. You're enough of a dollop head as is.”

“Before Merlin, I didn't have crazy sorcerers and monsters trying to kill me every week,” Arthur says angrily.

Ambrosius hums in agreement. “It does get ridiculous. I honestly wonder if they have some kind of list or something of when they can attack. With this many people, it can't be just first come, first serve.”

Arthur snorts. “You would know better than me apparently.”

“I'll have you know that I've never tried to kill you once,” Ambrosius says, protesting. Prank, sure. Trip up, just a little bit, why not? But not kill. “You haven't reached that level of annoying yet.”

“I feel so much better now,” Arthur says, rolling his eyes.

“You should,” Ambrosius says, “You dying would mean that we have wasted years of our lives, protecting your arse. Not to mention the civil war that would follow, since you don't have an heir yet. Messy,” he frowns.

“It keeps getting better and better,” Arthur says, more to himself than Ambrosius.

Then Ambrosius decides that he is never going to get a better chance than this. Why not take it? Merlin will thank him for it. Eventually. After he gets done being pissed. He rearranges himself so that he is fully facing Arthur. “Then again, the kingdom would just go to Merlin then.”

“What?!” Arthur yelps, “Why? Because you have plans on taking over Camelot?”

Ambrosius rolls his eyes. “No because Merlin practically helps you rule the kingdom as is. Surely it hasn't escaped your wonderful observational skills that Merlin is basically doing the duties your queen would have?” he asks sarcastically, “Honestly the only people who would be shocked if you made Merlin your consort would be the nobility. Everyone else wouldn't. Gods, the castle staff has known for months now.”

Arthur sputters. It's hilarious.

“Plus it would end this ridiculous pining the two of you have. You like Merlin. Merlin likes you. Get together and solve the problem.”

“I can't be with Merlin,” Arthur says in protest.

“Why not?” Ambrosius asks, “Half the staff assumes that you are. The knights certainly do. Plenty of people – really anyone who has seen the two of you together – wouldn't be overly shocked. Everyone already loves him. He knows what he's doing. And you would have that love match that you want.”

“I am the king. I need heirs,” Arthur says next.

“Adoption!” Ambrosius says, throwing his hands in the air, “Why does everyone forget that adoption is a thing? It's not that hard. Pick a kid you like that you think will do well and raise him. Or make Gwen and Lance's kid – once they have one – your heir. It's not that hard. Why do people insist on making things so complicated?”

“So this is your plan then,” Arthur says, pointing a finger angrily.

“ Yes prat,” Ambrosius says dryly, “How ever have you discovered my masterfully evil plan of making sure  _ the two of you are happy together _ . Oh the horror of it all.”

Arthur huffs. “Well how should I know. You have magic after all.”

“Arthur,” Ambrosius says wearily, “even if I wanted to rule Camelot – which I don't by the way – Merlin is already doing that for me. And has he ever made a decision that you disagree with? Written a speech that leads to disaster? Done anything to hurt you or Camelot?”

“No,” Arthur says irritably.

“There you go. And really, I know this is hard, but you can't honestly think Merlin would ever betray you. That's like thinking that the sun will one day rise in the West. It simply isn't done.”

“Then why didn't he tell me?” Arthur says angrily, “Everyone I have ever loved has betrayed me, one way or another. Why is Merlin any different?”

Ambrosius leans forward and looks Arthur right in the eyes. “At this point it isn't a matter of trust so much a matter of fear. Think about this – you are born with blue eyes. But that means that there is something wrong with you. Maybe you are evil, maybe you're just different. But you have been born with blue eyes and there is nothing you can do to change that. So you have to hide them. Ever since you can remember, you were told to hide your blue eyes. Because you could be taken away and used. Because you could be killed. Because you will certainly be an outcast.

“So you hide them. Your entire life, you hide them from anyone who doesn't know. It doesn't matter how close you are to them, you hide. Because what if they are horrified if they find out? What if they kill you or shun you or toss you aside? You have met other people with blue eyes and they are just as bad as people say they are. Because blue eyes are so persecuted, no one ever sees a good person with blue eyes, only bad people.

“Then, one day you realize that there is someone you want to tell that you have blue eyes. But how? It has been so long since you've known them. What if they reject you anyways? What if they always look at you differently now? They have seen the same bad people you have. They believe that all blue eyed people are evil. You are their friend, but will that be enough? Or will it end in pain?

“You have blue eyes. It's something you can't help. But all your life, you have been blamed for it. You have been shunned because sometimes people can sense you have blue eyes. You have been taught silence and fear. You want to tell your friend, but what if? The 'what if' haunts you, never leaving you alone. You want to say something, but what if?

“What if they blame you like the rest of the world already does?” He sits back, watching.

Arthur is quiet. Still. It almost looks as if he isn't breathing. Briefly he closes his eyes before opening them again and looking at Ambrosius for a long moment. Then he nods before looking away again. He settles against the cave wall, adjusting himself to get comfortable.

Ambrosius leaves him alone. Arthur has enough to think about now. And it is not as if he is expecting miracles. It would be nice, but it is unlikely. But he is thinking about it now and that is what is important. As long as he is thinking over everything he learned. If Ambrosius can spare Merlin the brunt of Arthur's anger then he will have done one of the most important things he has ever done. Merlin doesn't need to see that first initial rage. He has done nothing to deserve that.

And he really does want him to be happy. Both of them. Two sides of the same coin. The meaning is clear enough to him. Now maybe those two idiots will figure things out and get on with it finally. Destiny isn't always the most patient of things after all.

When it looks as if that is going to be the end of the conversation for tonight, Ambrosius curls up, making himself comfortable against the cave wall. Time to sleep. It's not too hard to guess that he – or Merlin if he is awake by then – is going to need it. Tomorrow is going to be another long day.

:::

Merlin wakes up feeling as if he has been hit with something very hard in the head. Repeatedly. Gods, what... Oh, right, that's what happen. He looks around and doesn't recognize where they are. A cave, but how did the get here?

“ _ So I found out that if you get knocked out hard enough, apparently I am able to take over your body. Whether I want to or not, _ ”  Ambrosius says casually.

“ _ What _ ?!” Merlin asks, suddenly feeling more than a bit panicked. Oh this is bad. This is so very bad.

“ _ Don't worry, we had a good talk, _ ”  Ambrosius says, as if that is suppose to reassure him.

It doesn't. It does the opposite in fact. Not because he doesn't trust Ambrosius. He has been with Merlin all his life. He knows that he would never do anything to hurt him. But he knows exactly what Ambrosius is like. Protective. Sometimes overprotective if you ask Merlin, not that anyone ever does. Combined with Arthur's temper, that sure to be a bad combination right there. Because while there is no question about Ambrosius' fidelity to Arthur, he is second in his priorities. Merlin has always come first. Ambrosius always says that someone has to be it. And Merlin certainly isn't going to put himself before Arthur.

Then you combine the fact that Arthur was talking with magic – literally. That couldn't have helped things either. From his point of view, Ambrosius had to be the visible representation of everything Arthur is against. Yes, since he has become King, he hasn't executed anyone for magic. Yet. But that doesn't mean he is changing his mind about it.

Cautiously he looks over at Arthur, who is cooking something – likely rabbit from the smell of it – over that fire.

“Good morning lazy daisy,” he says brightly.

That does nothing to reassure Merlin either. He knows Arthur. He knows how he reacts to almost every situation by now. And that smile is his obnoxiously happy smile. The one he uses when he's furious, but determined not to show it for  _ reasons _ . What those reasons are varies from situation to situation – some political, some personal – but it is always the same. “Morning,” he says warily.

“Glad you're awake bright eyes. Today is going to be a long day. Eat up,” he motions, taking the rabbit off the fire and dividing it into two pieces.

Merlin takes it carefully and begins eating. As he watches, Arthur does the same. As if nothing is wrong. Merlin isn't sure which is worse – this fake peace or having Arthur yelling at him about betrayal. Not that he wants yelled at, but there is no way he is going to escape it. Not forever. Not with Arthur. This is too big for even him to ignore. They are going to have to talk about it eventually, one way or another.

And at least it would be a honest reaction. It would tell Merlin exactly how Arthur is feeling. Now he can guess, but he doesn't know. Not for sure. This falseness is going to drive him right out of his skin if it lasts much longer. Which is likely what Arthur is trying to do. Punish Merlin without having to do a thing. Well then. If that is what he wants for now.

“ _ He's just being an emotionally stunted prat. Give him time _ ,” Ambrosius says.

“ _ Prat yes, but I think he has a good reason to be angry this time _ ,” he replies.

“ _ Well that makes one of us. I think you're giving him too much credit again _ .”

And Merlin thinks Ambrosius might not be giving him enough. Not this time. He squares his shoulders and continues eating. If this is what Arthur wants then fine. That is what Arthur will have, for now. Maybe the extra time will calm him down some. Or maybe he is going to use it to brood. He's good at that. Arthur can say he doesn't brood and mope all he wants. He most certainly does. And right now, he certainly is.

“We should start making our way back to Camelot,” Arthur says when they are finished, not even looking at Merlin. “There are still signs that the slavers are in the area. I avoided them easily enough, but we shouldn't take our chances. Let's move.”

Ambrosius snorts. “ _ As if I haven't warded the cave. What does he take me for, an idiot? Him? _ ”

“ _ You're in a right mood today _ ,” Merlin says as he gets up and follows Arthur out of the cave.

“ _ Gee, I wonder why _ .”

Merlin doesn't say anything to that. Great, someone else in a piss poor mood. This is getting even better by the minute.

He pauses, checking to make sure they are alone. “I assume that you can,” he waves a hand vaguely, clearly asking for... something. He still isn't looking at Merlin.

“ _ The path finding spell. I used it yesterday to get us here _ ,” Ambrosius says.

Merlin nods to both of them, not bothering with a verbal response, and sets off. If Arthur doesn't see the gesture, then he'll get the idea soon enough. Words feel too heavy in his mouth right now. Best to leave them there. The tension stays with them, no matter how far they walk. It crawls up Merlin's spine and lodges itself right on his neck. It makes him want to hunch down under the weight of it. His neck and back is going to be sore soon if things stay like this.

And it shows no sign of stopping. Twice Merlin has to pull Arthur out of the way of a group of slavers. Twice Arthur tenses up under his touch. Twice Arthur has then shook his arm out after they are no longer touching. As if he is trying to shake away the feel of his hand. As if he can no longer bear the thought of touching him. He tries to hide just how much the thought of that hurts.

It's one thing to fear death or exile for all these years. Quite another to fear the loss of Arthur – if not physically, than mentally. Emotionally. He is afraid that this is a sign of the latter. It's one of the reasons he kept quiet for so long about this. It's not for fear of his life. It's for fear of his heart. Funny how that works, isn't it. Too bad he doesn't feel like laughing now.

Glancing over at Arthur, he can see that he is as stiff as Merlin feels. But, from the expression on his face, or lack there of, it might as well be made of stone. He has to stop a grimace from forming. Oh that isn't a good sign. Not at all. Arthur, for all his inability to talk about his emotions like a normal person, is actually very expressive. Very passionate when he lets himself be. When he is around people he trusts. That he is so blank now is just another stab to Merlin's heart.

Everything is silent, the only sound is the noise of the forest around them. He takes comfort in that. For one thing, it means they are the only ones around right now. For another, it is always relaxing, to hear life go on around him. To feel it flow off his skin and continue on. There is nothing else like this feeling in the world.

His wrist twinges and he bites back a grimace just thinking about it. Of course he knew iron shackles were bad. They cut him off from Ambrosius – his magic and his best friend. Of course they were bad. But he had no idea how soul searing it truly was. How much panic and agony. It is indescribable, but he knows that it will be showing back up in his nightmares soon.

It hadn't been courage back there, driving him on. It had been pure terror and determination. The all consuming instinct to protect Arthur and to  _ make the pain stop _ . It is a miracle he was able to do anything at all. It's no wonder that he passed out after he escaped. It's impressive that he kept going as long as he did. But then again – sheer determination and terror. Both are great motivators. It's also impressive that Ambrosius release wasn't more obvious than it was. Honestly, he was expecting the equivalent of a magic storm, not... whatever actually happened.

“ _ I'm not sure either. All I know is that I woke up and apparently my eyes glow when I'm in charge _ ,” Ambrosius says then.

“ _ Very subtle then. _ ”

“ _ Yes well, look who I have as examples. Is it any surprise? _ ”

“ _ I resent that statement. I can be subtle when I want to be, _ ”  Merlin says in protest. Mostly. Now that he isn't tripping over his feet anymore. That always helps.

“ _ Now _ ,” Ambrosius adds.

Merlin rolls his eyes, but doesn't reply right away. Well if Ambrosius wanted to draw him away from the panic that he could feel slowly creeping up on him, he did a good job. Now is definitely not the time to think about it. Not when they are in the middle of the woods, alone, with slavers potentially around the corner. That can wait until he gets back to Camelot. Maybe not even then.

“ _ Your confidence is overwhelming. Truly. _ ”

“ _ I live to serve _ ,” Ambrosius says sweetly.

He fights a snort. Live to serve. Right. When he feels like it, that is. When he's needed and things are on the line, then Ambrosius as the most reliable person Merlin knows. But when it comes to everyday stuff? That's more hit or miss, depending on how sassy he is feeling.

It's pushing near late afternoon now and the sun is starting to cast long shadows on the trees. Not time to stop yet, they still have plenty of daylight, but time to be on the lookout for shelter soon. Especially if they want to eat tonight. He's not sure how Arthur managed those rabbits this morning. Likely luck, along with an improvised snare. Still, he's not sure if they are going to have the same luck again tonight.

One part of Merlin is relieved that Arthur isn't talking to him now. That means he won't ask if Merlin can use magic to hunt. The answer is yes, Ambrosius can hunt fine. But neither of them particularly like doing it. There just feels something inherently wrong about using magic like that. If they have no choice? Then yes, obviously they will. But if not then they won't. Merlin doesn't even like hunting when it's just watching Arthur. He knows that sometimes it has to be done to keep the balance, but that doesn't mean he likes to watch. Besides, some times that hunting is more for sport then for food. He most definitely doesn't like it then.

He wants to ask Arthur what he is planning to do, but he still isn't talking to Merlin. And he is right, the tension is making his muscles ache. Still he doesn't try to break the silence this time. With anything else, yes, he wouldn't hesitate. He never likes to leave Arthur alone in his head too much. But this time is different. This time it is Merlin himself that is causing those thoughts.

Or, technically it's Ambrosius too, but that's basically the same thing. For all that they are two different people, they are so entwined that it is impossible to separate them. One does not exist without the other. Like their own version of the 'two sides of the same coin' Kilgharrah likes to talk about.

“ _ Emrys _ ,” a voice says, making Merlin start. He still isn't use to that, no matter how many times he meets the Druids. He isn't use to anyone else besides Ambrosius talking to him that way. “ _ are you in need of assistance? _ ”

“ _ Why do you ask _ ?” Merlin asks, slightly wary. Not because he thinks they mean any harm, but still. Caution is a learned habit. Not that he always practices it. Gaius complains about that enough.

“ _ There was a magical disturbance yesterday. Seeing your presence here explains it. As you know, the Druids will never turn you away if you need help. _ ”

Arthur obviously noticed his reaction and is looking at him. “What is it?” he asks.

Merlin pauses for a moment and then says, “It's the Druids. There are some close by here. We're talking.” Because it's not as if it can get any worse than it already is. Well, it can, but Merlin doesn't really want to think about that.

“ _ Is there a place we could stay? Arthur and I had a run in with some slavers some miles back and they are still looking for us, _ ”  he says, “ _ Do you know about them? They'd likely grab you if they could. _ ”

“ _ Worry not Emrys, we are aware of the group. You and your King are welcome here if shelter is what you need. _ ”

“ _ Thank you _ ,” he says.

Turning his attention back to Arthur, he notices that he is still looking at him. He looks cautious, but also curious. Maybe... maybe they might be able to work through this after all. Maybe he won't lose Arthur. “There's a camp near by. Are you going to be fine staying there for the night?”

“Do you mean am I going to start trying to kill them all while we're there?” Arthur asks bitterly.

Merlin rolls his eyes at that. “No dollop head. I mean are you going to be too uncomfortable? Amazing as it is, I do know how you feel about magic.” And alright, he sounds ever so slightly bitter too. With any luck he won't notice. Just like everything else.

Arthur just gives a firm nod and begins walking again.

Merlin sighs and catches up to lead again. Honestly, he doesn't even know where he is going. How does he think he is going to get there without Merlin? Prat.

“The Druids can talk to you with their mind? Can they read your thoughts as well?” Arthur asks as they walk, looking straight ahead.

Merlin nods. “Yes. Those with magic can. It tends to be their go to way to talk if you can hear them. And no, they can't read thoughts while they are talking to you. It's harder to lie via mind speech, so they would be able to tell that, but that is the only thing.”

Arthur frowns at that. “If they have magic? I thought all Druids did. That was why they were Druids in the first place.”

“No,” Merlin says, “They are Druids because they follow the Old Religion. Yes, magic is a big part of it, but you don't _have_ to have magic to follow it.”

“Do you follow it?” Arthur asks.

Merlin tilts his hand from side to side. “Eh, yes?” It comes out more of a question than an answer. “I mean, I have nothing against it obviously. And I believe in it. But follow it? Only the basics really. For one thing, I don't know enough about it. For another, I'm not the best at following anything.” Unless it is Arthur. Then he'll follow until the world ends.

Arthur is silent for a while and then, “Ambrosius said that you can sense the magic in the world.”

Merlin waits, sensing more.

“He said I might be able to as well. Would I be able to talk with just a thought too?”

“ _ You tell me. Can you hear me _ ?” Merlin shrugs.

“Of course I can hear-” He stops once he realizes that Merlin didn't say that out loud. “Oh,” he says and then stops talking again.

Merlin lets him have his silence. Maybe he is coming around after all. Maybe it's not as hopeless as he thinks it is. Now that he is aware of them, it is easy to find where the camp is set up. Within the next few hours, he can see it through the trees. The hum of their wards run over his skin.

“Emrys,” a Druid, obviously the leader of the camp greets them. He is an older man with hair that is red, streaked with grey strands. “and King Arthur. Welcome to our camp.” He smiles as if he is genuinely happy to see them.

Merlin smiles back, unable to help it. There is just something about him... something familiar... He stares, even though he knows he shouldn't. It's the eyes that do it. They are the same kind, warm brown. He grins even wider. “Todric!” he says in surprise.

Todric laughs. “Hello little one. You've grown well I see.” He opens his arms.

Merlin doesn't hesitate to accept the hug. He really did miss Todric after he left. “I would hope so,” he grumbles. “I was a kid last time I saw you.”

“And I'm sure you were adorable,” Arthur says snidely.

Merlin turns and sees that Arthur is glaring at him. He rolls his eyes so that he can see it. “I could say the same thing about you  _ Sire _ . Tell me, how long did you run around with a wooden sword, terrorizing everyone, before they gave you a real one.”

“I did not. That is none of your business,” Arthur says, sputtering slightly. What is even better is that he is also blushing slightly.

Merlin grins. It is hard to make Arthur blush, so any time he can manage is an accomplishment. It's a rather attractive look as well. Not that that is the reason Merlin tries. No. Not at all. It's just a happy coincidence. Someone has to keep him humble after all. He turns back to Todric. “You never said that you were a Druid,” he says.

“Yes well, you have to admit, a Bard is a much safer way to travel,” he says, squeezing Merlin's shoulder once more before releasing him.

“But that means you knew and you never said anything.” Merlin crosses his arms, pouting just a little bit.

“You were so young yet. Better that you hear it from someone else when you were ready,” Todric says gently.

“Right,” Merlin snorts, “so I found out from an annoying old lizard instead. It went oh so well, let me tell you.”

Todric blinks at that, but there is laughter in his eyes. “Is that so? A talking lizard told you instead?”

“The dragon talked?!” Arthur asks, taking that moment to prove he isn't as dense as everyone thinks all the time. What a time to prove it. He couldn't remained dense for just a little longer? It would have made Merlin's life so much easier.

“Er... do you really want an answer to that?” he asks.

“ _ Mer _ lin,” Arthur says.

Merlin smiles brightly. “Because as much as I would love to answer you  _ Sire _ , you don't know how much I would love have this conversation, we should probably save it for another time. You know, when we aren't keeping our host waiting,” he says pointedly. And when a camp full of Druids can't listen in to you yelling at me. He thought the tension had been slowly going away, but now it seems to be coming back. Naturally.

Arthur stiffens at that. “Yes, of course, do forgive me. I thank you for offering your hospitality.” He nods to Todric regally. Because he's a prat, but he's a magnificent prat.

“ _ That's one way to put it _ ,” Ambrosius says.

“ _ Oh who asked you _ ?” Merlin asks, grumbling.

“ _ I did, thanks for asking _ .”

Really, what did Merlin do to deserve all this sass today?

Todric returns his nod, but his eyes are still amused. Just a bit. “It is always honor to help my Lord Emrys and the Once and Future King. I will have someone show you to a tent if you would like to freshen up. Supper will be served soon.”

Merlin stubbornly refuses to look at Arthur, even though he can feel his eyes on him. 'My Lord Emrys'. Great. Why do all the Druids insist on calling him Emrys? It's not as if they don't know his actual name by now. He always corrects them. Add to that, usually 'my Lord' is added, which is just awkward. Merlin is the furthest thing from a Lord there is.

“ _ Hello Emrys _ ,” a very familiar voice greets. He steps into his line of view.

“Mordred,” Merlin says in greeting and almost shock. The last time he saw Mordred, he was a small, angry child. He had an air of unrest and resentment around him. It had been hard to look at him. Because he remembered what Kilgharrah had said, but at the time same he was a kid. A little kid who needed help.

Now that has changed. Mordred has changed. He is still young, but he is no longer angry and restless. He looks good – healthy and settled and content. As if he has finally found what he had been looking for. The help he needed. Maybe even the answers to the questions he had. Stronger and prouder and a lightness about him that wasn't there before.

Arthur's bane has grown up now.

But is he really Arthur's bane just because Kilgharrah said so? What if-

“Blue eyes, of course,” Arthur mutters to himself.

That breaks Merlin out of his thoughts. “What?” he asks, turning.

“Nothing,” Arthur says. “Honestly, if you can hear me now, why can't you listen when it's helpful. You know, such as when I said I needed my red coat cleaned?”

Merlin sighs loudly. “Because I was busy arranging _everything else_ for the feast? I know that one is your favorite, but you looked fine in your blue one instead. And look, nothing ended in disaster either, did it? There wasn't even an assassination attempt. It was good.” It is an indication of his life now, that it is a good day when no one tries to kill Arthur. How sad.

A quiet snort from someone reminds Arthur of their audience. His face goes blank again, as cold as the walls of the castle.

Todric steps in then. “If I may, Mordred can show my Lord to his tent and I can show you, your Highness.”

Arthur nods. “It would be most agreeable. I will see you soon,  _ my Lord Emrys _ ,” he says with a twist of his mouth.

“ _ I could always trip him, if you wanted _ ,” Ambrosius offers.

“ _ Better not push our luck _ .”

“ _ I don't know. Might do him some good. Remind the prat of a certain conversation. _ ”

Merlin watches as the two of them walk away from him. Something in his chest aches as he watches. As if Arthur isn't just going away temporarily, but permanently. Once again, he is as emotionally reachable as the sun. It might shine its light on you, but that doesn't mean you can ever reach it. You can't even look at it. It is far too bright for eyes to handle.

Why then, does he feel as if, even this has been stolen from him? As if the day has been plunged into darkness and the sun has vanished. A bit dramatic, he can admit, but that doesn't change the way he aches right now.

“Emrys,” Mordred says softly.

Merlin jerks his thoughts away from that and attempts to turn his expression into something more neutral. Judging by the way Mordred is looking at him, he isn't successful. He turns away. “Where is the tent?” he asks. And maybe it is too harsh, but right now he is sore all over – both physically and mentally. Absently he rubs his wrist.

“Are you hurt?” Mordred asks, obviously seeing the motion.

“It's fine,” Merlin says, brushing off his concern. And it is, compared to what he woke up to. He might still ache, but it is going away as the day goes on.

But Mordred doesn't look happy at that. He approaches and carefully reaches out. “May I?” he asks.

Merlin nods, without really thinking about it.

Gently he pushes his sleeve up and hisses in sympathy. “What happen?”

If Merlin really thought about it, he would be surprised by this. Both by the sympathy and the gentleness. As it is, he isn't thinking about much but Arthur's retreating back. The gesture feels like it means so much more than it should.

“Come, you should have some salve put on it.” He leads Merlin to the tent that clearly serves as their healing tent. He can tell that even before he steps into it. It's the smell of it. It smells just like Gaius' room. It makes him ache even more. What he wouldn't give to be back there right now. After he left Ealdor, that had become his home. Now he wants it with a fierceness that is almost startling.

Mordred opens a jar and begins to rub it into Merlin's wrist. First one and then the other.

“They used iron shackles,” he finds himself saying.

“ Bastards,” Mordred says fiercely. “That would explain the blast of magic we all felt. It swept through like a raging storm. Everyone with magic for miles around here felt it.  _ Bastards _ ,” he repeats, “We knew about the group for some time now. I wanted to do something about it, but Todric wouldn't let me. He said there are too many of them. I could have handled it though.”

“You wanted to fight them?” Merlin asks in surprise. Not because he would want to protect what is obviously now his home, but because he wants to fight at all. As a rule, Druids aren't fighters. They are a peaceful people.

“I want to be a Knight of Camelot one day,” Mordred says, still focusing on Merlin's wrists.

A Knight? Arthur's bane wants to be a Knight? Wants to serve the same King he is destined to kill? And that is the root of the problem right there. He is destined to kill Arthur. But what if he doesn't want to? What if that can change? What if there is a way to change it?

He had this exact argument with himself over Morgana. What if? What if he did things differently? Could he have saved her? Could things be different now? Or would her hatred of Uther always end up consuming her? Would that have happened if she had known that there was someone supporting her? What if she knew about Merlin. Would that save her? Or condemn him?

Useless to ask now. The past is done and he cannot change it. But still, he can't help but wonder. It is the same here. Mordred is Arthur's bane. But what if he is only that because Merlin pushes him away? What if he is because Merlin has forewarning? Cause and effect. What comes first, the prophecy or man's actions because of it?

“Do you?” he asks instead.

Mordred nods, grinning. “Oh yes. I want to be able to serve the Once and Future King. It would be a great thing to help him fulfill his destiny.”

Something in Merlin  _ aches _ .

“Not as much help as you, of course,” he adds quickly, “You are destined to lead the way. But I want to be able to help. I want to fight with honor. I want to protect our people against those that will hurt them.” His eyes burn bright with hope.

Merlin puts his head in his hands. Oh yes, he is destined to lead the way alright. And look what a wonderful job he is doing so far. Especially right now.

“Emrys?” Mordred asks tentatively, “What is the matter? Is there... is there something wrong with that?”

Merlin doesn't answer. Can't answer.

“ _ Emrys _ ?” he asks again.

Merlin looks up into those blue, hopeful eyes. So blue and so earnest. Not as blue as Arthur's eyes, those are impossibly blue. Those Merlin could drown in. But the similarity  _ hurts _ . Without realizing it, he begins to talk. It's a jumbled mess of what happen and what he is feeling and everything. Too much for someone he doesn't trust, but he can't stop. It's too much. Everything is too much now and it is all coming out.

By time Merlin is finished, his voice is hoarse and his eyes burn.

Mordred is beside him, practically stuck to him, offering his support. He holds up a cup.

Merlin gratefully drinks the water. It feels cool on his throat. He finds himself leaning into Mordred's warmth. Letting him hold him up. He feels drained, rung out like a rag on the line to dry.

Mordred supports him easily. “If the King doesn't accept you, then he is a fool,” he says vehemently.

Merlin starts at that. “But-”

“No,” Mordred says firmly, “No Emrys. If Arthur doesn't accept you, he is the one who is losing, not you. He is a fool if he cannot see the loyalty he has in front of him.”

Merlin is taken aback by just how vicious he sounds. How, dare he say, protective of him. It is certainly a turn from the last time they had met. Last time Mordred had promised revenge on him. What has changed? Has that actually changed or is he simply hiding it? It doesn't seem like it though. He doesn't know what to think anymore. He shrugs. “I'm nothing special,” he says hoarsely, “I'm not what everyone thinks I am.”

“ So?” Mordred asks, still fierce, “So you have magic like no one else. That is  _ the point _ . You are Emrys. You are destined to do great things. So what if your magic has a personality of its own. That still makes you a intensely loyal and clever person.”

But Merlin shakes his head. “No, it's my magic. That's what is suppose to be important. That's what makes me Emrys. And It's not even mine. Not really.”

Mordred turns his head so that he can look Merlin in the eyes. “Your magic isn't what makes you Emrys. It's your heart.”

Merlin turns away, not use to such focus being directed his way, but can feel a blush heating up his face. His heart? Really? That's what he is going with?

“ _ He's not wrong, _ ”  Ambrosius says then.

“Who was it that got you and Arthur out of the shackles? Who got you away? Who is it that helps Arthur rule when he needs help? Who is it that is always there for him? Yes, your magic – Ambrosius – makes you powerful. But it's your heart that guides you. Any person would be blessed to have you by their side.”

Merlin blushes even fiercer, listening to him talk. It is... a bit much. He isn't use to people talking about him like that. He does his work in the shadows, unnoticed. That's the way things are. And it's fine. He's use to it by now. Yes, sometimes he wants to be thanked. Just once. But he doesn't need it. And he can always spend time with Lancelot when he gets that low. It always helps. He may not know everything, but he knows enough.

But Mordred... Mordred knows now. And Mordred sees. And apparently he sees something good, judging by the look in his eyes. They are burning brightly. All on Merlin's behalf. He knows what it is like, to live in a world that condemns you for something you can't help. And still, he believes. He wants to serve Arthur, the same as Merlin.

Maybe... maybe he should take the chance.

“ _ If nothing else, he knows more than Morgana ever did. Maybe that means something. _ ”

“ _ You think we can change something this time _ ?”

“ _ Who knows _ ,” Ambrosius shrugs, “ _ You're the hopeful one. I'm with you either way. _ ”

Maybe it's time to listen to his heart, if it is supposed to be what is guiding him. He smiles. “Thanks Mordred,” he says. Mordred beams at him and Merlin knows he did the right thing. How things will go, well, that's in the future. And right now, that's the last thing he wants to think about.

“Are you alright to eat now? Supper has been done for a while. Todric and the King have been sitting by the fire, talking. And the King has been asking about you.”

Merlin sighs and nods. Time to face the world again. “How did you meet Todric?” he asks, distracting Mordred before he can choose the topic.

As they walk to the fire and get a bowl of stew, Mordred chatters on and on, about what his life has been like since he joined the camp. It is definitely a difference from the mute little boy he first met. Now Mordred is happy to talk, adding hand motions to his speech. He even manages to get Merlin to laugh, a couple of times, even if that is the last thing he really feels like doing. Throughout it all, he can feel Arthur's eyes on him. But when he looks, he avoids him.

It's beyond frustrating. It makes Merlin feel as if he is going to itch himself right out of his skin. It's almost impossible to relax, although he can mostly ignore it. That doesn't mean that he doesn't feel extra awkward or tongue tied at times. He is tempted to yell at Arthur to say what he will and be done with it. Mainly because he's not sure he wants to know.

But also because he doesn't want to cause a scene. He is sure the camp is more than able to pick up the tension between them, but so far they haven't said anything. Merlin would like to keep it that way. As they say, always present a unified front to the public and save the fights for behind closed doors. Not that the servants won't know almost immediately – they are good at that – but everyone else won't.

Great, he really does sound as if he's some kind of ruler. He isn't no matter what the Druids or Ambrosius or Camelot's servants or... Well, no matter what anyone else thinks. He's the ruler of exactly nothing. That's it. Too bad no one listens if he protests otherwise. But really, could you see him a ruler or Consort or whatever? A public one? It would be a disaster. He'd probably start a war on the first day. Wouldn't that be a good sign?

So he rather determinedly ignores the prat, focusing on talking to Mordred and then the others that join in their conversation. It gets easier to laugh as the night goes on and the drinks flow. Not that Merlin drinks himself. He still can't hold his drink well. But it is entertaining to watch everyone else. Then someone pulls out the instruments and the dancing starts.

Laughing, Mordred tries to pull Merlin to his feet to join in.

He shakes his head. “No,” he says, smiling, “ _ No, absolutely not _ .”

“ _ Come on Emrys, where's your sense of adventure _ ?”

“ _ You wouldn't be asking that if you knew everything I had to go through to get to this point. Adventure. Ha! _ ”  he complains.

“ _ All the more reason to have fun now _ ,” Mordred says and pulls at his arm again.

Merlin sighs, but decides why not? It feels like forever since he danced. Mainly because it has. Not since he came to Camelot certainly. And before that, only rarely. It was a mixture of no one to dance with and embarrassment. But now he lets go, feeling the music flow through him.

He still feels Arthur watching him, but now it matters even less. He throws his arms in the air and lets go. The music increases volume and other people surround him. He feels the magic in the air, dancing along with them.

“ _ You are magnificent, _ ”  Mordred tells him, laughing as they spin.

Merlin just grins and keeps moving.

They dance the night away, only going to bed after the sun comes up to greet them. Merlin can't remember the last time he had so much fun. Maybe he should do this more often. He just might agree the next time Gwaine asks him for a dance. He'd like to see their faces then.

They spend the next day in camp, resting from the last few days. It is the oddest mixture of tension and peace that Merlin has ever known. But it can't last of course. The day after, they prepare to leave. Todric is generous, making sure they are supplied with everything they need.

“I will be sending a patrol here, to clear out the slaver so that your people may be safe,” Arthur says before they leave.

“Thank you my King,” Todric says with a smile, “That is kind of you.”

“Yes, well,” Arthur clears his throat, “It is a King's duty to make sure his people are safe.”

“Just so then,” he nods.

“Ready to go?” Mordred asks.

Merlin turns and sees that he has a pack of his own on his shoulders. “What-” he starts, but doesn't finish before Mordred answers.

“I'm coming with you,” he says, looking rather determined.

“ Mordred,” Merlin says, “ _ I thought you said your home was here _ ?”

“ _ And it will always be my home. But I am coming with you _ .”

“You're not changing your mind, are you?” Merlin asks in resignation. He recognizes that stubborn look in his eyes. No. No he isn't. 

“Not at all,” Mordred says brightly.

Merlin looks at Arthur, to see if he is going to object, but he doesn't, He doesn't say anything at all actually. He is quiet. A little too quiet for Merlin's peace of mind, but that has been touchy enough as it is. It won't take much to push it. He nods.

“ _ You won't regret this Emrys, you'll see. _ ”

Well, he just might at that. And maybe for something he didn't even think about. Judging by Mordred's enthusiasm, it seems likely. How odd...

They make good time getting back to Camelot. The farther away they get from the camp, the less cautious they need to be. There are no signs of the slavers coming this way again. It doesn't mean they don't watch, but they still, they do not run into any more trouble.

Mordred acts as a good barrier between Merlin and Arthur. Because Arthur still isn't talking to him. And Merlin doesn't know how to break the tension. Normally he does. Normally that is practically his specialty. But now, he is at a loss. He's never dealt with something like this before. Mainly because there has never been something like this that Arthur has had to deal with. It makes him ache impossibly, that it has gotten to this point.

When they run into a patrol, Merlin might greet them with a little more enthusiasm than necessary.

“Well if you look here. It's our noble Queen and Merlin,” Gwaine says, waving at them enthusiastically in greeting.

The others – Lance, Percy and Elyan – all grin in relief.

“Decided on a little vacation did you?” he asks as he swings down from his horse.

Merlin snorts, but can't help the wave of relief he feels at seeing them. “Oh the pressures of castle life.” When he is in touching distance, he reaches out and kisses him. “Thank you my shining knight.”

Gwaine grins even wider, wrapping an arm around him. “Well then, this is new. Tell me, what did I do to get such treatment? So I can do it again of course.”

Merlin laughs. “For teaching me to pick locks.”

“Oh honey, if you want more lessons, all you need to do is ask. Although, if you want more _in depth_ lessons, we need to invite Percy, if you know what I mean.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

Merlin laughs, feeling some of the tension drain from him. He leans further against him. “I'd hate to steal too much of your time from Percy,” he says.

“It's no trouble at all,” Percy says dryly, something no one ever expects from him. It's one of the reasons he fits with Gwaine so well.

All of the others laugh at that.

Merlin turns to see Arthur glaring at him. Well alright then.

“We need to get back to Camelot,” he says sternly, “We need to take care of those slavers as soon as we can.”

That turns the mood serious.

“Are you alright Arthur?” Elyan asks.

Arthur nods. “Yes. Double up. Merlin, with Lance. Mordred, you can go with Elyan. Ignore Gwaine, I don't want you picking up any bad habits from him.”

“Queeny, I'm hurt,” Gwaine says dramatically as he remounts.

“You should be,” he says as he joins Percy up on his horse.

“Where'd you pick up your stray?” Gwaine asks.

“From the Druids,” Mordred answers for himself. “Problem?” he challenges, eyebrow raised.

But Gwaine just laughs. “Oh good, you're going to fit right in. This is going to be fun.”

“Are you really fine?” Lance asks Merlin softly as they ride. The others are listening to Arthur recount their latest disaster.

Merlin nods, but Lance snorts disbelievingly. “Arthur knows,” he admits, just as softly.

“How did Arthur take it?” he asks.

“How do you think Arthur took it?” Merlin asks in answer. “I still have my head if that tells you anything. Then again, that might be because he currently lacks a sword.”

“Do you really think,” Lance pauses.

But Merlin shakes his head before he can finish. “No I don't. I'm not worried about that. But the tension is enough to kill me. And I have no idea if he is ever going to look at me again, let alone trust me or want me around.”

“Oh I'd say looking isn't going to be a problem. Especially the way he was glaring at Gwaine when you kissed him.”

“Gwaine? I thought he was glaring at me. Why would he be doing that?”

Lance sighs. “You know why. I've pointed it out to you before. Just because you don't believe me, doesn't make it any less true.”

“And I told you Arthur doesn't feel that way about me. He just gets... weirdly possessive sometimes. That doesn't mean he likes me like that.”

“Actually that is exactly what it means, but obviously I'm not going to convince you of that. Now, tell me how he found out.”

Speaking softly, Merlin gives Lance his own version of events.

When he is done, Lance whistles quietly. “You don't do things by half, do you?”

“I've obviously been spending too much time with Gwaine,” Merlin says dryly.

“Obviously,” Lance says teasingly in return. He pats Merlin's hand. “Everything will turn out alright, you'll see.”

“That makes one of us,” Merlin sighs.

“So your magic...” he starts and then stops.

“Has his own personality? Yup. And if you think you've heard sarcasm before, you haven't met Ambrosius yet. I wonder if you can, now that we know he can take control,” he says thoughtfully.

“ _ Let's not find out the same way, shall we _ ?” Ambrosius says.

“ _ Definitely not _ ,” Merlin agrees. Never again.

Once they are back in the city, Arthur acts as if nothing has happened. Not until he gives Merlin the next week off that is.

“What?” Merlin asks. A week off? Normally he is lucky to get one day once in a blue moon off. Now he has an entire week?

“Make sure Mordred knows his way around,” he continues as if Merlin didn't say a thing, “and do, whatever else it is you do,” he says dismissively. “Go to the tavern. You like going there, don't you?” he asks, but there is a twist of his mouth to let Merlin know that he knows he is being mocked.

“Of course Sire,” he says stiffly. Well if the Knights didn't already pick up that there was something wrong before, they certainly know now. He turns sharply on his heels and walks away. He had thought that maybe there would be some way to, well. It hardly matters now what Merlin wants. Not if Arthur has already made up his mind.

Mordred follows, not saying a thing. How very tactful. It's a good thing because Merlin is in no mood to hear it, whatever it is he might say. He wants to hear nothing at all.

So he throws himself into this new duty. He sets Mordred up in a room, not far from his own. He makes sure that he knows the castle, inside and out. He introduces him to the Knights. He spends time with them himself, catching up on all the time he missed because he had been too busy other times. He even gets more lock picking lessons from Gwaine – and  _ just  _ lock picking. In other words, he follows his orders. That doesn't mean he enjoys himself.

Any other time, this would be an unimaginable freedom. A chance to do whatever he wants, in whatever order he wishes? Yes please. That is something he never had a chance to do, even when he first arrived at Camelot. He always had something to do, whether it be for Arthur or Gaius. Now he has nothing.

Well, not nothing. Once Gaius hears everything, he does his best to occupy Merlin's time when he needs it. But even he can't stop Merlin's thoughts. His worries. He isn't sleeping well, plagued by nightmares. Some are being cut off from Ambrosius again. Some are of Arthur turning his back on him permanently. Either way, it's not very peaceful.

People notice of course. The halls are awash with rumors, each more ridiculous than the other. No one knows the truth, with neither Arthur or Merlin talking about it. But they know something has happened. And they fuss over it as well. It doesn't help set Merlin's nerves on edge at all.

Ambrosius isn't much help. He can't cheer Merlin up and he can't do much else. “ _ I could always give him donkey ears again though. That was fun _ .”

“ _ No you can't _ ,” Merlin says.

“ _ Sure I can. Just think about it – Arthur unable to do anything but bray. You know you want to. He even deserves it this time. _ ”

“ _ No. _ ”

Then one night Gwaine pulls him into the room. The rest of Arthur's inner circle is already there, sprawled out over everything. Mordred is already there as well, in one corner. Drinks are flowing freely and Gwaine gives Merlin a cup without a word.

“Alright Merls, what has happened between you and Queeny? He is driving us all mad in practice,” Gwaine asks after the third cup.

That is how the Knights find out Merlin has magic. Mainly because he is too drunk at that point to keep it a secret. But also because he is tired. Just so tired of everything. What is the point anymore? There isn't, not without Arthur. They all took it better than expected. Even Leon, who grew up in Uther's anti-magic regime, took it all fairly well.

As he put it, “Who else would protect Arthur so devotedly as you? Everyone knows that you would die for him.”

It brought a lump to his throat, just hearing that. Because it's true. Gods above, but it is _so_ true.

It was worth the agonizing hangover he had the next day. Absolutely worth it to know he had so many people behind him. It also helped that Mordred knew this amazing cure. It tasted horrid, but at that point, he hardly cared.

“ _ I still say you should talk to him. Go to his room one evening and  _ talk to him _ . What's the worst that could happen _ ?” Ambrosius says a couple of days later.

Merlin is leaning against one of the outer walls, looking out on the city. He is alone right now, having given the others the slip. Ever since he told them, they have been hovering. The support is nice, but the lack of privacy, not so much. And that's not even including Mordred, who has been hovering since the beginning. “ _ I can't just barge in on him _ ,” he protests, “ _ And do you really want me to answer that _ ?  _ Because that's usually when things start to go from bad to worse _ .”

“ _ You've never had a problem doing that before. You've always fought to get Arthur to listen to you. Why is this time different _ ?”

“ _ Do I really need to say it _ ?” Merlin asks dryly, crossing his arms.

“ _ Is it because of me _ ?”

“ _ Because of  _ everything!” He mentally throws his hands in the air. “ _ Things are different this time. This isn't Arthur being a stubborn idiot _ .”

“ _ According to you _ ,” Ambrosius interrupts.

Merlin continues as if he hadn't said a thing. “ _ This is about, well, the very center of our relationship. It's a big issue, even if you keep dismissing it as such _ .”

Ambrosius sighs. “ _ I just hate seeing you so miserable. This is tearing you apart _ .”

“ _ I know. I just... I just can't _ ,” he says weakly.

“ _ And to think that you doubt your heart _ .”

“ _ Oh shut up _ ,” Merlin says. He hopes the prat is enjoying himself right now because he most certainly isn't.

By the end of the week Merlin is about to go out of his mind with everything. Which is exactly when he gets the summons. Well, summons might be the wrong word for it. It is more Mordred barging into the room where Merlin is helping Gaius prepare some tonics. His first warning that something is going on his how big Mordred is smiling. He has been rather broody since they arrived at Camelot.

“Merlin, there's a Council meeting in the next candle mark and you're supposed to be there.”

He frowns. There is? There wasn't one on the schedule for this week. Unless there is a major reason for the change – and he hasn't heard of one – it isn't scheduled until the week after this. He knows for sure because he remembers writing it down. Despite the fact that he technically has this week off, he still knows what is going on around the castle and what needs done when. Some habits don't know the meaning of 'breaks'.

And yes, alright, he might also be doing _some_ things in the background that he doesn't need to pass onto Arthur. Small things no one will miss really... Alright, fine, he's been doing a lot of his normal background work. If Arthur doesn't like it, he can come yell at Merlin himself. That he hasn't is telling.

But now his week off has ended apparently.

“Have fun,” Gaius says as Merlin wipes his hands off.

“Thanks,” Merlin says dryly as he and Mordred walk out of the door. Honestly, out of all the things he usually did, Council meetings were the thing he missed the least. It wasn't that they were necessarily boring – although they were. He knows that they are important to running the Kingdom. It's just that they can drag on forever when the Councilmen put their minds to it. Or when they can't agree on anything. Unfortunately, that happens more often than not.

The fact that he didn't know about this before is even more concerning. Yes, Arthur could have rearranged the schedule on him to be a prat. But he doesn't like Council meetings any more than Merlin does. Probably even less. And it's not a good idea to change their routine too much. The Councilmen tend to get... cranky if that happens.

“This is a good thing right?” Mordred asks, still smiling.

“Sure,” Merlin agrees easily, returning the smile. He keeps his doubts to himself. No need to worry him over what is probably nothing. He doesn't want to dampen his spirits now that he is so happy. For all that he has seen what the world is really like, it seems as if Mordred is still innocent in some ways. Merlin wants to keep it that way. Plus he is protective enough as it is. No need to encourage that.

The second sign is when Merlin walks in and sees that it isn't just Councilmen that are there. So are Arthur's Knights. Well, all the Knights are Arthur's now, but when he was Prince, his inner circle was named that and it has stuck. It is a manner of honor by now to be Arthur's Knights. Still, what are they doing here?

Gwaine is the first to spot him of course. “Merls,” he says as he throws an arm around his shoulders, “Finally decided to stop slacking off have you?”

Merlin rolls his eyes at him. “Well someone has to pick up after you, don't they?” he asks, leaning against him.

“I thought that was Percy's job now?” Elyan asks from his other side.

Lance shakes his head seriously. “No, Percy's job is to pick Gwaine up. Period,” he says.

They all laugh at that.

Merlin grins. It is a good sign that they are all smiling. That means something can't be seriously wrong. Good. The last thing they need is an emergency right now. Not that they ever need one when it comes. “Anyone know why this has been called? And why you lot are here too?”

“For our good looks obviously,” Gwaine says, winking.

Leon gives him a subtle nod and a reassuring smile. But he is the only one, so obviously the others have no idea either.

Merlin frowns at that. Why is Leon the only one who knows? Sure, he is the oldest of Arthur's Knights. The one who has known him the longest. But Arthur usually doesn't distinguish one from the others like this.

He then gives the hand sign for all safe against his side.

Merlin has picked up enough of the sign language to understand it after all these years. He's been around the Knights enough that he should. But he doesn't draw attention to him. Really, this should be his third sign, but he doesn't realize it at first. Instead he turns to Gwaine, who still has his arm firmly around Merlin's shoulders. “Well yes, that's why Lance is here, but why are you then?” He smiles innocently at him.

Gwaine cackles. “Never change Merls.”

Merlin doesn't say anything to that, scanning the room. His eyes seem immediately drawn to Arthur. He is looking back at him, eyebrow raised, unimpressed. Oh as if he has any room to talk right now. He copies the gesture. What in the world is going on here?

Arthur's stare is dark and intent. “ _ Do you trust me _ ?”

Merlin starts to hear Arthur's voice inside his head. Not only is he acknowledging him, he's figured out how to talk to others with his mind. No really, what in the world is happening today? Still, it is such a stupid question to ask. He doesn't even have to think about it before he answers. “ _ With my life _ .”

He nods and then calls the meeting to order.

Merlin makes his way to his customary spot, behind Arthur's chair. But Arthur gestures for Merlin to stand beside him instead. Not that he gives any hints as to why. He's not reassured, no matter what Leon signed.

“I have called you here today to make an important announcement,” Arthur says, drawing himself up and projecting his voice. This, whatever it is, is big. Arthur only gets like this when he is bracing himself to make a new change. The change is always for the better, but it's not always taken well. He is bracing himself for a fight and showing that he is not going to back down. “I am lifting the ban on magic.”

The only reason Merlin does not jump out of his skin is because he has already been so tense to begin with. As is, it is a good thing he was braced because he would have otherwise. What? Arthur is lifting the ban on magic?  _ What _ ?!

The others do not react much better to the news. Instantly the room is flooded with noise and protests. It echoes against the walls, making it impossible to understand anyone. That only makes them shout louder than before. It is a riot of noise and panic. Arthur stands in the middle of it, steady and unmoving. Like a rock in a storm.

“ _ Arthur _ ?” Merlin asks. He doesn't get an answer.

He doesn't say anything, letting them say all that they want to before he raises his hand. “I know this seems sudden, but it is something I have been thinking about for a long time now.”

He has? Since when? Because he's never mentioned anything to Merlin about this before. And if it is because of last week, well. A week can hardly be counted as a long time, now can it?

“My Father was a great King and I am proud to be his son. But my Father was also not perfect. He banned the practice of magic because he blamed it for the death of my Mother. I believe this to have been a rash decision. A decision that we are still suffering from to this day. How many have attacked my family – and my land – as an act of revenge? How many innocents have been killed for simply trying to live? How many times have we come across a magical creature attacking our citizens? This needs to stop. Now.”

“We have been doing fine so far,” Lord Alfred protests.

Arthur nods. “Yes, we are all still alive and well, despite these attacks. But do not think it is because of us alone that we survive.”

“Sire?” Lord Ector asks.

“We have had magic on our side as well. From the beginning, since before I was crowned King, we have been protected from the shadows. Isn't it right to honor that? For too long I have stayed silent, but no more. It is time to bring Camelot into a new era.”

Oh he wouldn't. The prat absolutely wouldn't. Oh who is Merlin fooling, of course he would. He would and get some grand amusement out of the whole thing. “ _ Don't you dare _ ,” he says in warning.

Arthur, of course, ignores him. “The Druids have a prophecy that the Once and Future King will unite Albion and bring peace to our land. But he will not do it alone, but with Emrys by his side. Emrys – the greatest sorcerer to have walked the land.”

“ _ I am going to kill you _ ,” Merlin says flatly, “ _ See how well you can rule then _ .” He can feel the Knights eyes on him now. Well at least he knows why they are here now – support. He wonders how they would feel about a slight change in rulers.

“I am the Once and Future King. It has been confirmed,” Arthur says over the muttering that has started again. He doesn't stop it. Nor does he let it stop him. “It is time to honor Emrys.”

“How do you know that you can trust this 'Emrys'?” Lord Griffin asks, “How do we know that it isn't a trap of some sort? Are you willing to risk the whole of Camelot on a handful of words?”

Arthur smiles then. “May I present Lord Merlin Emrys, Camelot's new Court Sorcerer,” he clasps Merlin on the shoulder.

“ _ Tell me, do you have a preferred form of death _ ?” Merlin asks with a smile. United front in public. Keep a united front in public, he reminds himself. That is the only thing stopping him from killing him right then and there. Or at least giving him an earful.

“ _Lord_ Merlin Emrys?” Lord Bedivere, one of the more level headed Lords asks.

“ The Druids see him as their Lord. In a sign of goodwill towards them, I have decided to honor that title.” He nods calmly. As if he didn't just turn everything on it's head. “ _ Don't be so dramatic  _ Mer _ lin _ ,” he tells him.

Merlin fights a snort. Don't be so dramatic. Right. Look who's talking right now. He just outed him to the entire Council. The entire Kingdom, once word gets out about this. Which it is obviously going to, that is the point of this. So now he is fighting a wave of panic, as well as his anger. Great. He doesn't exactly concentrate on what all is said next. He just stands there, tall and steady, making sure none of his shock or unease or any other emotion shows on his face.

“ _ Is now a good time to give him donkey ears again _ ?” Ambrosius asks.

“ _ Possibly _ ,” Merlin agrees because he really does need the distraction right now. United front in public. Right.

But fortunately – or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it – Arthur calls the session to a close before he can. It is clear that it would go on for days if he didn't. He leaves and Merlin follows right behind him. Oh are they going to have words now. He waits until they are in Arthur's room, doors have closed before he stops holding back. “What in the world was  _ that _ ?” he asks angrily.

“That Merlin,” Arthur says calmly, “was me being King. Do you have a problem with that?”

“Do I have a problem?” He throws his hands into the air. “Well lets see. First you don't talk to me for a week so that I assume that you now hate me. Then you throw this on me without any warning. And _then_ you tell everyone I have magic. _Without my permission or any warning_. But oh no, I'm fine and dandy. Just like always. Pay no mind to me.”

“I thought you'd be happy. Isn't this what you wanted?” Arthur asks, still stubbornly calm.

Merlin growls at him. Actually growls, which he wasn't expecting himself, but he can't help it. “ _ Not like that you utter arse _ !” he shouts. Wow are the servants going to have something to talk about now. Not that he cares at this point.

“ _ Don't worry about. I took care of it already _ ,” Ambrosius says.

Oh. Good then. One less thing to worry about then. “All I've ever wanted was to see you be the King you are destined to be. Not... whatever this is,” he waves a hand through the air, “And since _when_ have you been thinking about lifting the ban?”

“Uniting Albion and bringing magic back to the land – that's what I'm suppose to do, isn't it? And I do not need to tell you every thought that passes through my head.” He sounds defensive now.

Good. Merlin hates when Arthur pulls that calm and collected act of his. It's never true. He's too passionate for it to ever be true. “Well that much is obvious. I didn't think there was a whole lot going through it to begin with though.” Normally something like that would come out teasingly. A joke. But now it is hard and cold, even if he knows it isn't true.

“Funny, until recently, I could have said the same about you. I guess you just never know with people, can you?” Arthur sounds just as cold as Merlin does.

Merlin really is going to let Ambrosius turn Arthur into a donkey again. Or maybe a toad. That would be a good one too. He can keep him in one of Gaius' tanks and feed him dead bugs every day. Sounds rather satisfying right now.

He sneers at him.“Not my fault that you've hit your head so much that it's affected your thinking.”

“And here I thought it was your job as 'my protector' to keep me safe.” Arthur glares at him.

Merlin hisses at that and takes a half step back. Alright, so that hurt. He's always tried so hard to keep Arthur safe. From everything. And he truly hates failing. He would die for Arthur, if need be. Gods, he _tried_ to. It didn't work, but he was going to. The thought of failing – of seeing Arthur hurt, or even worse, killed, is like a knife to his heart. “Well maybe if someone didn't fling themselves into danger every five minutes.”

“Someone has to protect our people, don't they? Or do you propose we let them suffer instead? Or now that everyone knows, are you going to be able to wave a hand and make everything disappear?”

The fight goes out of Merlin at that and he feels himself sag. He sighs and drops into one of the chairs at Arthur's table. If only things were that simple. If they were, secret or no, he would have done it a long time ago. He may not be from Camelot by birth, but it is his home now. Where his friends and chosen family live. Where Arthur is. He cares for it as well, if not as much as he should sometimes. Not as much as Arthur. But enough. Enough to save it if he can.

That seems to be a signal for Arthur's anger to drain as well. He leans against his desk. “I've been doing some reading this week.”

“That must have been painful” he says, lighter this time, although not without a bite.

“And some thinking,” Arthur continues as if Merlin didn't say anything.

“Even worse,” Merlin mutters.

Arthur glares at him. “I talked to Todric and the others at the Druid camp. I've talked to Gaius and others here. Ambrosius called me ignorant, so I spent this week learning.”

Merlin is silent now, listening.

He looks away. “He was right. You were right. My Father has been the only King in recent history to outlaw magic. All of the other Kingdoms have it. Yes, some of Camelot's ideals may have crossed over into their lands, but they never set out to kill every magic user they could. Magic... well, I learned a lot about magic. It sounds kind of amazing.” He looks up at Merlin before looking away again. “We even had Court Sorcerers before this. Did you know that? The information was buried, but it was there. It was easy to pull together after that.”

He sighs. “It is going to be a lot of work, but it's all there. Magic use to thrive in Camelot. It was a main trading and gathering center. That declined when my Grandfather took the throne, but magic was still here. It was a part of everyday life. That is one of the reasons the Great Purge was such a shock to everyone. It was... everyday life until then. I want to bring that back.” His voice rings with conviction.

Merlin smiles at that. This, this is why Arthur is such a good King. He cares about his people. He wants them to thrive. He always tries to do what is best for them.

“And for you,”Arthur says, looking Merlin in the eyes, “I want to do this for you.”

Merlin shakes his head. “But I don't need you to do this just for me. This isn't some price you have to pay for my loyalty. That's not why I do what I do. I will protect you, no matter what. Yes, it will be nice to not fear for my life if someone finds out now, but I don't _need_ it. I don't need anything.”

“Nothing?” Arthur asks, still staring intently, “Not even acknowledgment? Gratitude? Freedom to work as you will?”

“No,” Merlin sighs, “I mean, yes, it use to bother me. At first, when everything was new and sometimes overwhelming. But I got use to it now. Sure, it might be nice to hear a 'thank you' every now and again, but I'm use to working in the shadows now. It's familiar... safe,” he gives a slight laugh, “Not like I'm going to be able to do that now. Now everyone will be watching.”

“What if I don't want you in the shadows? What if I want you standing by my side instead?” There is a new intensity to Arthur's voice.

Merlin steadily hold his gaze, letting his eyes ask his question.

“As my equal,” Arthur says firmly.

His breath stutters in his chest. No, no he can't mean... can he?

“Ambrosius told me something interesting in that cave. He said that we both want to be with each other – romantically that is. That I should make you my consort and be done with it.”

Forget having his breath stutter. Now it stops, freezing inside of him. Ambrosius told Arthur  _ what _ ? He wants to say he wouldn't, but he absolutely would. Merlin knows that for sure. He's been bringing it up enough lately. Still, why would he...

“Is he right?” Arthur asks.

Merlin's voice sticks in his throat. He can't seem to move.

“ Is he right?” Arthur repeats, coming to join Merlin at his table. He walks over gracefully, like a predator, “Do you want to be with me Mer _ lin _ ?” He leans into Merlin's space.

“Why would I want to be with a prat like you?” Merlin asks weakly.

“Because, apparently, I'm _your_ prat.” He smirks down at him.

That is enough to make Merlin move. He reaches up and pulls that smug face down for a kiss. It's not the frantic, dominating kiss he sometimes imagines, but it is no less passionate for that. Their noses bump and they have to readjust. Arthur's lips are rough on his, too chapped. Arthur grips Merlin's shoulder too tightly, as if he is afraid that he'll vanish. It's perfect.

“ _ See, I told you everything would work out _ ,” Ambrosius says right then.

“ _ Not now _ ,” Merlin answers back.

They pull back, each panting lightly. Well then, Merlin guesses it is possible for Arthur to like him like that after all then. He smirks as Arthur sits down and pulls him over so that he is straddling his lap. Not the most comfortable of positions, but he isn't moving. Not yet.

“Does this mean I'm forgiven?” Arthur asks cheekily.

Merlin sighs. “At least you didn't tell everyone I was your Consort instead.”

“No,” Arthur shakes his head, still looking far too amused, “let them figure that one out for themselves.”

“What? You dollop head.” Merlin smacks him in the chest.

“Shouldn't it be obvious?” Arthur asks with a grin, “They both start with a 'C' after all.”

Merlin rolls his eyes at that. What logic. Yes he is sure everyone will realize just from that fact alone. Definitely. Dollop head indeed.

“That and the fact that we will be sharing a room.”

Oh. Well alright then. Someone is getting ahead of themselves, aren't they? “Confident are you?” Merlin asks, with a smirk of his own.

“Of course. I need my Lord Emrys to protect me, don't I?” Arthur smiles up at him charmingly.

Far, far too amused by this all. “Remind me again why I love you?” he sighs.

Arthur starts, which is when Merlin realizes what he just admitted. But then Arthur's smirk grows. “Because you have excellent taste of course. Some might even say it is fate.”

Merlin sighs at that. No. He has no idea at all why he loves the prat.

“ _ I do _ ,” Ambrosius says.

“ _ Oh shut up _ .” He tells him and then kisses the smirk off of Arthur's face. Much better.

It looks like things are going to work out after all.

 


End file.
